


Promise

by Fogfire



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 50,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: You have given a promise to Heimdall and yourself when you were only five years old, that you would marry him as soon as you could.Now you’re old enough to get married, but marriage isn’t as easy as you thought it would. Or is it just your friendship with a certain Asgardian Prince and God of Mischiev who foil you?





	1. Chapter 1

You are five years old when you escape the care of your governess for the first time, slipping out onto the streets, running as fast as your short legs will carry you.

It doesn’t take you long to find the rainbow colored bridge and you step onto it, marveling about the colors under your feet, taking one step after the other, until you find the golden gate right at the end of it and its gatekeeper, Heimdall.

“Now, now,” he steps down from his post to take a look at you, “Shouldn’t you be home instead?”

“No,” you tell him with fervor, “The grown-ups are cele- cele-”

“Celebrating?”

“Yes! They do not need me.”

“But they are looking for you already.”

“That is stupid,” you tell him, walking towards him, “My Mama has told me that you can see everything. They just have to ask you where I am.”

Heimdall smiles at you. “That is right.”

“So if I stay right here they can pick me up when they come ask you,” you tell him and raise your hand for him to take it.

“Can you show me around?”

Heimdall takes your small hand in his large one and helps you up the steps to show you the sword, answering every question. You ask a lot, your inquisitive nature prompting more than one laugh from him.

“If you see everything, do you see people pooping all the time?”

You ask and sit down on one of the steps next to his post when your legs get tired.

“Do you sleep here or do you have a home?”

“Can you sleep or do you dream of everything happening then?”

It takes the grown-ups quite some time to find you and instead of lowering your head when they scold you, you hold it up high.

“You should have asked Heimdall. He would have told you right away.”

“Silly little girl,” the governess scolds you, “Heimdall has more important tasks than looking out for a little girl.”

“He should not!” You disagree, “Heimdall likes me! When I grow up I’m going to marry him!”

Your father laughs, your mother apologizes to Heimdall for your words and the governess pulls you away by your arm.

A week later you can see him on his post as you walk down the bridge towards him again, a book under your arm that you ask him to read to you.

“The governess says I am still too young to read,” you explain as you take your seat on the golden steps, “But you are the smartest man on Asgard. If you would teach me, I would soon be the smartest woman here.”

“Even smarter than Queen Frigga?”

You stop to think about that. “I could be the second smartest woman then.”

-

You are ten years old when you come running down the bridge towards him, your dress skirt fluttering behind you.

“Heimdall!” You greet him loudly, jumping to be able to put your arms around his midriff to hug him, “They said I can take a few lessons in sword fighting if I behave in the upcoming weeks.”

“And you want to take lessons in sword fighting?” He asks, guiding you towards your place on the steps. You can hardly calm down enough to sit still.

“Of course! Have you seen Lady Sif fighting? And Queen Frigga knows how to wield a sword too! And you have one too! I have to be able to wield one at least.”

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he tells you in all seriousness, “If you want to keep studying the great masters, you can do just that.” 

“I can do both!” You tell him, “But Heimdall, Mother said that if I want to take the lessons in sword fighting I have to master the dances and I’m hopeless!”

“You are not hopeless, you are just disinterested.”

“Exactly!” You jump up again, looking both ways before you raise your hand for him to take, a gesture that is already so familiar to him he misses it when you’re gone.

“Will you dance with me? The boys in my dance class are all gross!”

“Surely the sons of King Odin cannot be called gross,” he tells you, hiding a smile.

You roll your eyes at him. “You see everything, Heimdall, you should know better than to try convincing me of something I know is a lie.”

“I apologize, Mylady,” he takes your hand and guides you down the steps, “Now lead the way, what dance do you want to practice?”

-

By the time you’re fourteen you spend more time at the gate than at home.

You take your lunch with you to eat with Heimdall, you bring your sword to practice with him and you bring the books you find interesting, asking him for explanations when you’re stuck on difficult topics.

When you turn fifteen your body starts to blossom. You notice the looks you get from warriors, men on the streets, boys in the classroom. You notice the looks you get from your mother when you come home in the evening after an afternoon spent with Heimdall.

“Dear, I’d trust the man with my life,” she tells you one night as she combs your hair before you go to bed, “But you spend too much time with him. I don’t want you to ignore him, don’t want you to give up what he gives you. You are so much calmer when you’ve been with him then you are anytime else. But you are young. People talk. Use your time wisely and don’t forget that in the right dosage, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

You think about that, for the first time not ready to talk with Heimdall about it. You are sure he knows about it, as he seems to know about everything else.

You let it linger at the back of your head wherever you go, whatever you do, until you slip into a new section of the great library, one you have not stepped into before.

The first book you pull out is old and heavy, filled with maps and notes that were scribbled in a tiny font. You take it with you towards the gate, dropping it on the polished golden floor.

“I have a new project,” you tell Heimdall with the same excitement you had felt when you’d taken up sword fighting years ago, “I want to explore Asgard.”

“Very well, Mylady.”

-

By the time you’re eighteen there are only a handful of people who know Asgard as good as you do.

By the time you’re eighteen your father has forgotten the promise you’ve given thirteen years ago.

By the time you’re eighteen it is time for your appearance in the debutante ball, a ball that announces to the world that you are ready to be wed.

“Are you feeling anxious?” Heimdall asks a few nights before the ball and looks over to you where you sit, back leaned against the golden walls of the gate.

You’re wearing riding gear and even without his all-seeing eyes, he would be able to tell that you’re not feeling well.

“Yes,” you tell him and watch him straighten like he always does right before he asks you to tell him how you feel. But right then, the gate demands to be opened and Heimdall sends you a look that tells you to hide behind the pillars in that little room where there’s only enough room for one person. You.

You slip into it, closing your eyes and pressing your hands onto your ears like a little kid that believes it’s invisible as long as the world is hidden from its eyes.

Heimdall never asked you to, as there is no rule for you to stay out of the gate either, but you figure that sometimes it’s better not to know too much.

But the booming voice of Thor is too loud for you to dismiss, as is the worry in Heimdall’s eyes as he comes to take you from your hiding place.

“Go home,” he tells you, “There might be danger ahead.”

You hug him, squeezing him a little harder than you’re used too and it feels like a goodbye to the both of you. You can feel his gaze as you walk away.


	2. marry me

Time ticks by slowly, the hands of every watch you come across seems to stand still.

You wonder what Heimdall sees, wonders if he takes the time to look at you.

You hesitate to think of him, afraid whispering his name could alert him.

All the worries around you cannot touch you.

Is Thor going to come to the ball? There is a word that him leaving Asgard that one night had brought him Odin’s displeasure.

You remember Thor’s booming voice and Heimdall sending you away before anyone could see you there, thankful for his foresight.

-

Eventually, the night of the ball arrives, it’s the night before the coronation of Thor and the atmosphere is just like it should be. The streets are crowded, as is the great hall where you will be introduced with the other girls of your age group.

They all smile, some faces showing more anxiety than others.

You pull your lips up for the sake of the others, willing your mind to take you away from this place where the presence of too many, too much is suffocating.

You feel like a cow that’s presented its possible buyers and no amount of makeup and jewelry can shake that feeling.

The first dance is mandatory, your father leading you through the room, handing you over to the first man asking for your hand as soon as the song changes.

You have to go through five dances, five different men that look down at you with varying looks of lechery on their faces.

Finally, you manage to slip away under the excuse of having to powder your nose, but you run down the dark, empty hallways of the palace, determined to not come back before the night ends.

You lose your shoes right outside, picking up speed on your bare feet, bunching up your dress to hold it right over your knees.

The air is cool, with that fresh spring smell that you love so much.

When you reach the rainbow bridge, the wind rips the ribbons out of your air and it flutters freely around your heated face as you run down the bridge towards the gatekeeper.

“Heimdall!” You yell as you reach him, breathless, sweating, but happy nonetheless, “Heimdall!”

“Is everything alright, Mylady?” He asks as you sink down on your knees right before the steps leading up to him.

“Yes!” You pant, “I just… I have to ask you something.”

He keeps quiet at that, but you feel his gaze on your face as you close your eyes to will bravery into your quivering heart.

“As of tonight, I am considered an adult in our society,” you begin, “I am of marriageable age and every man who thinks himself worthy can beg my father for my hand. But I… I want to pick my husband myself.”

“There is no argument against that,” Heimdall states calmly, “You are able to choose for yourself.”

You look up at him, willing him to read your thoughts. But as he keeps quiet you get up slowly until you’re on one knee in front of him.

“I want you to marry me, Heimdall. Would you do me the honor?”

You count your heart beating five times until he answers with a breathless laugh.

“Y/N,” you close your eyes for the fraction of a second there, trying to cherish one of the few times he’s called you by your name, trying to cherish the way his voice sounds, so soft and full of feeling, “I do believe that I should be the one asking.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would,” you tell him, “Would you had dared, despite the age difference? Or would you have sat back and waited, thinking you did not have the right to ask?”

He takes off his helmet instead, placing it next to the sword before he looks at you. You can see more of his face, can see the smile that’s visible in his eyes.

“You seem to know me very well, dear,” he says, walking down the steps towards where you are still on one knee, “And you see where I lack bravery or boldness.”

He reaches out his hand for you to take and pulls you up when you do.

“Why me, though?”

“I promised,” you whisper, “Don’t you remember?”

“You were five years old,” he says, “I wasn’t sure you’d remember it yourself.”

“You still haven’t given me an answer,” you remind him and he laughs again, that breathless laugh that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“Answer me my question first,” he asks you, “Are you sure that you want this? You do not know me outside of work. You do not know what it means to be married or to be married to someone who is so much older than you.”

“I have spent so much time with you,” you whisper your answer, “I’ve learned new things about you every day, learned to love you more and in so many ways each day. How could I not believe my love would grow and change even more if I had the chance to get to you the rest of you?”

“You have grown up,” he voices his realization softly and his thumb rubs over the back of your hand, “If you will have me as your husband, I will be the happiest man Asgard has ever seen.”

The smile blooming on your lips lights up your eyes as well and for a moment, you’re unable to speak, just look up at him to see the truth in his golden eyes.

“I don’t have a ring to seal this, though,” you remember with a laugh, shaky from how full your heart is feeling.

He laughs at that, a full, hearty laughter that makes you smile again.

“Would you bestow me the honor to ask your father for your hand and come up with the ring myself?”

“Are you going to wear it, then?” You ask, a teasing smile dancing in your eyes.

He raises one eyebrow at you and raises his hand to touch your face. You stay still, almost forget to breath when his thumb caresses your cheek.

He leans forward and for a painfully long moment you hope and fear that he will kiss you as you are right now, hair loose, carefully done makeup taken away by your sweat. His lips touch your forehead, his breath tickles the crown of your head and you sink into his embrace without really thinking about doing so.

-

This is different to all the other times you’ve hugged before.

Your head fits right under his chin and despite the cool armor, you feel warm in his arms. Warm and cherished and protected.

“You need to go home now,” he whispers eventually and lets go of you, “Your parents are already looking for you.”

“Can’t they wait a bit longer?” You ask, looking up at him with hope in your eyes.

“Can you wait to tell them what you did today?” He asks back and you smile and duck your head, taking his hand into yours again.

“Do you promise to come and ask for my hand?” You almost flinch at how shy and uncertain your voice suddenly sounds, but he squeezes your hand.

“I will. I promise. And you won’t have to wait thirteen years for it.” He teases and turns you towards the bridge with gentle force, pushing a strand of hair behind your ears.

“Now go, before they come and drag you home.”

You walk down the bridge slowly, turning around to look at him when you’ve reached the end.

You can’t see him from here, just guess where he must be standing.

“Heimdall,” you whisper and here his laughter in your head as he accepts your calling.

“Go home, dearest.”

“I’ll dream of you,” you tell him and you can see what he sees, can see your tiny figure through his eyes.

He lets you slip out of it and you turn around and leave.

-


	3. Thor's coronation

“I cannot believe he would do such a thing!” Your father is furious, but so are you.

“Whatever you are accusing him off, you are wrong in your accusations!”

“I accuse him of seducing you! And did he not? I trusted him with your well being in all the years you’ve spent with him and he betrays my trust this way? By asking you to be his wife? Surely we are obliged to be thankful for the care he has bestowed upon you, but this does not force my hand to give you to him!” He exclaims, breathing heavily.

Your mother tries to hold you back, sensing your anger as you square your shoulders and set your jaw.

“He did not seduce me, father and you know that as well as I do and everyone else on Asgard should know! There is no soul living in this world that could be more loyal, more trustworthy than Heimdall, the watcher of worlds!”

“But he-”

“I asked him to be my husband,” you interrupt him, voice loud and clear, cutting through the atmosphere of distress in the room. Your parents fall silent with surprise as you clench your fists and continue.

“I have asked him to be my husband because I love him and I believe that he could love me too. I believe that I have fulfilled my duties as your daughter the best I could and that I did not ask for many things while growing up. Please allow me this, knowing that I am fully capable of choosing my own path.”

Your father opens his mouth, his eyes portraying his emotional turmoil. Your mother stops him.

“You have seen what effect his presence has on her,” she reminds him, “He will come, he will ask for her hand and you will listen to his words with an open mind and an open heart.”

He sighs and nods. “I believe I will, then.”

-

No matter how impatient you are, there is no way Heimdall would be able to come by right away. It is the day of Thor’s coronation after all and everyone is gathered to watch.

You’re standing at the back, the crowds of people causing your heart to shrink in a fit of anxiety. The sun is burning down on you, sweat is running down your neck as you look over the heads, waiting for it to start. You can’t see a thing from here, just the backs of the people in front of you, your parents are somewhere closer to the center.

“Heimdall,” you whisper before you can stop yourself, “What do you see?”

He pulls you away the next moment, showing you what he sees.

The rainbow bridge glistens in the sunlight, the water looks alive beneath it, a dark mass spotted with silver stripes where the sunlight hits the waves just right.

“Can I come?” You ask and you can practically feel the smile in his voice as he speaks.

“It’s the coronation of Thor. You could be punished for missing it on purpose.”

“There are so many people, they will hardly miss me.”

“Then come, before I think better of it.”

-

You’ve always found a certain joy in walking down the rainbow bridge. There is something about having Heimdall’s watch you come closer, his eyes never leaving you, that has made you come down here at least once a week since you’ve turned five years old.

This time he stretches out his hand as a greeting and as you take it, he raises your hand to his mouth to drop a kiss on it. Warmth erupts in your belly and you duck your head, unable to say something. Heimdall smiles and you bite your lip and take a seat next to his feet instead.

“Not much has changed in all those years,” he comments, looking down at you on the floor, feet crossed under your dress as you look over the water towards the golden palace.

“I disagree,” you say, “I’ve changed quite a lot if you ask me.”

“You did? But all that matters is still the same. You sit cross-legged by my side, you spend your time looking over nature or written words.”

“For those things to change my heart would have to change.”

“Luckily it didn’t,” he says and raises his head to look out again, acting as if he can’t see the surprise on your face as you watch him.

“I don’t think luck has much to do with that,” you tease him and he drops his gaze towards you again.

“You call it fate, then?”

“I do think the name Heimdall fits you better,” you quip and he sends you a questioning look. You believe his eyebrow to be raised, but his helmet hides it from your view.

“You are the all seeing, all hearing gatekeeper of Asgard, surely you have already known I was aware that the books that randomly turned up on my doorstep came from you.”

“It was but one,” he tries to downplay it.

You laugh. “I can’t count them by the fingers of my hands. You sure knew how to keep my mind working, looking for more to learn. Was that part of your plan?”

He laughs now. “Part of my plan to see you happy. There is hardly a greater joy than seeing your eyes light up when you find something new to learn.”

You smile up at him, content with this revelation.

Silence falls upon the two of you and you look back to the palace.

“How far has the ceremony come?” You ask, “Is it going to be over soon?”

“Are you of impatient nature, Mylady?”

“Yes,” you tell him truthfully, “It is one of my many flaws.”

“I shall keep that in mind for all the times I believe there could not be a flaw in you.”

You laugh again. “This is new,” you tell him, “We’ve never talked like this before.”

“Of course we didn’t,” he looks down at you again, “Only yesterday you allowed me to have feelings for you.”

“I never allowed you anything,” you correct him, “Surely those feelings could not have come up overnight.”

“I have always been fond of you,” he agrees, nodding as if to himself. His voice is deep and earnest and you realize he’s taking this very seriously, “But I did not allow myself to let this feeling grow. I have made a covenant with my eyes to show no improper attention to a woman.”

You look up at him in wonder.

“I’ve never heard of such self-control.”

He smiles cheekily back at you. “Yes. It is one of my many flaws.”

You laugh, wracking your brain for an equally teasing answer when he suddenly stiffens.

“Dearest, you must leave.”

“What?” You ask in shock as he already leans forward to pull you up.

His eyes seem to look through you and you are sure they do, but his voice is soft. “Jotuns have invaded the weapons vault. Please, I need you to get back to safety.”

“I… sure, I will, I…” you turn to run down the bridge but he holds you back, “It will take you too long. There is a boat tied to the rock this gate is built upon. Take it. I will know when you’re safe.”

You nod, at a loss for words. He pulls you into his arms but before you can return the hug, he has let go again, ushering you towards the gate.

“Be careful when you climb down,” he tells you, “The rock is slippery.”

You want to call back that you know how to climb, but the words are lost on your tongue. You make your way down, forcing yourself to look only far enough to make the next step until you reach the boat.

It’s cool down here, right above the lapping water, so close to the edge of the world. You look into the darkness of space, feeling dizziness wash over you for a moment before you climb into the boat and pull on the coat that’s lying on the small bench.

Luckily you don’t have to row, knowing you’d never be strong enough to push the boat away from the edge. You curl up into a ball as the boat moves farther and farther away from the gate, hiding from the wind.

If Heimdall would look into your soul now, he’d only see fear.


	4. Thor is cast out

“I cannot believe he would do such a thing!” Your father is furious, but so are you.

“Whatever you are accusing him off, you are wrong in your accusations!”

“I accuse him of seducing you! And did he not? I trusted him with your well being in all the years you’ve spent with him and he betrays my trust this way? By asking you to be his wife? Surely we are obliged to be thankful for the care he has bestowed upon you, but this does not force my hand to give you to him!” He exclaims, breathing heavily.

Your mother tries to hold you back, sensing your anger as you square your shoulders and set your jaw.

“He did not seduce me, father and you know that as well as I do and everyone else on Asgard should know! There is no soul living in this world that could be more loyal, more trustworthy than Heimdall, the watcher of worlds!”

“But he-”

“I asked him to be my husband,” you interrupt him, voice loud and clear, cutting through the atmosphere of distress in the room. Your parents fall silent with surprise as you clench your fists and continue.

“I have asked him to be my husband because I love him and I believe that he could love me too. I believe that I have fulfilled my duties as your daughter the best I could and that I did not ask for many things while growing up. Please allow me this, knowing that I am fully capable of choosing my own path.”

Your father opens his mouth, his eyes portraying his emotional turmoil. Your mother stops him.

“You have seen what effect his presence has on her,” she reminds him, “He will come, he will ask for her hand and you will listen to his words with an open mind and an open heart.”

He sighs and nods. “I believe I will, then.”

-

No matter how impatient you are, there is no way Heimdall would be able to come by right away. It is the day of Thor’s coronation after all and everyone is gathered to watch.

You’re standing at the back, the crowds of people causing your heart to shrink in a fit of anxiety. The sun is burning down on you, sweat is running down your neck as you look over the heads, waiting for it to start. You can’t see a thing from here, just the backs of the people in front of you, your parents are somewhere closer to the center.

“Heimdall,” you whisper before you can stop yourself, “What do you see?”

He pulls you away the next moment, showing you what he sees.

The rainbow bridge glistens in the sunlight, the water looks alive beneath it, a dark mass spotted with silver stripes where the sunlight hits the waves just right.

“Can I come?” You ask and you can practically feel the smile in his voice as he speaks.

“It’s the coronation of Thor. You could be punished for missing it on purpose.”

“There are so many people, they will hardly miss me.”

“Then come, before I think better of it.”

-

You’ve always found a certain joy in walking down the rainbow bridge. There is something about having Heimdall’s watch you come closer, his eyes never leaving you, that has made you come down here at least once a week since you’ve turned five years old.

This time he stretches out his hand as a greeting and as you take it, he raises your hand to his mouth to drop a kiss on it. Warmth erupts in your belly and you duck your head, unable to say something. Heimdall smiles and you bite your lip and take a seat next to his feet instead.

“Not much has changed in all those years,” he comments, looking down at you on the floor, feet crossed under your dress as you look over the water towards the golden palace.

“I disagree,” you say, “I’ve changed quite a lot if you ask me.”

“You did? But all that matters is still the same. You sit cross-legged by my side, you spend your time looking over nature or written words.”

“For those things to change my heart would have to change.”

“Luckily it didn’t,” he says and raises his head to look out again, acting as if he can’t see the surprise on your face as you watch him.

“I don’t think luck has much to do with that,” you tease him and he drops his gaze towards you again.

“You call it fate, then?”

“I do think the name Heimdall fits you better,” you quip and he sends you a questioning look. You believe his eyebrow to be raised, but his helmet hides it from your view.

“You are the all seeing, all hearing gatekeeper of Asgard, surely you have already known I was aware that the books that randomly turned up on my doorstep came from you.”

“It was but one,” he tries to downplay it.

You laugh. “I can’t count them by the fingers of my hands. You sure knew how to keep my mind working, looking for more to learn. Was that part of your plan?”

He laughs now. “Part of my plan to see you happy. There is hardly a greater joy than seeing your eyes light up when you find something new to learn.”

You smile up at him, content with this revelation.

Silence falls upon the two of you and you look back to the palace.

“How far has the ceremony come?” You ask, “Is it going to be over soon?”

“Are you of impatient nature, Mylady?”

“Yes,” you tell him truthfully, “It is one of my many flaws.”

“I shall keep that in mind for all the times I believe there could not be a flaw in you.”

You laugh again. “This is new,” you tell him, “We’ve never talked like this before.”

“Of course we didn’t,” he looks down at you again, “Only yesterday you allowed me to have feelings for you.”

“I never allowed you anything,” you correct him, “Surely those feelings could not have come up overnight.”

“I have always been fond of you,” he agrees, nodding as if to himself. His voice is deep and earnest and you realize he’s taking this very seriously, “But I did not allow myself to let this feeling grow. I have made a covenant with my eyes to show no improper attention to a woman.”

You look up at him in wonder.

“I’ve never heard of such self-control.”

He smiles cheekily back at you. “Yes. It is one of my many flaws.”

You laugh, wracking your brain for an equally teasing answer when he suddenly stiffens.

“Dearest, you must leave.”

“What?” You ask in shock as he already leans forward to pull you up.

His eyes seem to look through you and you are sure they do, but his voice is soft. “Jotuns have invaded the weapons vault. Please, I need you to get back to safety.”

“I… sure, I will, I…” you turn to run down the bridge but he holds you back, “It will take you too long. There is a boat tied to the rock this gate is built upon. Take it. I will know when you’re safe.”

You nod, at a loss for words. He pulls you into his arms but before you can return the hug, he has let go again, ushering you towards the gate.

“Be careful when you climb down,” he tells you, “The rock is slippery.”

You want to call back that you know how to climb, but the words are lost on your tongue. You make your way down, forcing yourself to look only far enough to make the next step until you reach the boat.

It’s cool down here, right above the lapping water, so close to the edge of the world. You look into the darkness of space, feeling dizziness wash over you for a moment before you climb into the boat and pull on the coat that’s lying on the small bench.

Luckily you don’t have to row, knowing you’d never be strong enough to push the boat away from the edge. You curl up into a ball as the boat moves farther and farther away from the gate, hiding from the wind.

If Heimdall would look into your soul now, he’d only see fear.


	5. Loki is king

“What makes you so happy this morning?” The maid asks as you come down for breakfast. You’re still humming a tune under your breath.

“Spite,” you tell her with a laugh, “But no, I’m just trying to stay positive. After what has happened yesterday it will be highly unlikely that Heimdall has the time to come by as of today and the agreement of betrothal will just have to wait a bit. So I’m going to try and distract myself with my studies.”

”Are you going to see Heimdall today then?” The maid asks, eager as always for every story that could be of romantic content.

“Did you not read the sagas?” You ask back while packing some bread and cheese for your lunch, “The unwritten rule of courtship says that the less a hopeful groom sees of his intended bride before entering into formal marriage negotiations, the better his chances are of staying alive.” You send her a wink. “And I do want Heimdall to stay alive.”

-

While Thor makes his first contact with what Midgardians call coffee, Sif and the Warriors Three are on their way to speak to the Allfather, asking him to show Mercy to Thor.

Heimdall forces down a sigh as he sees the four friends enter the throne room.

“Allfather, we must speak with you urgently,” Sif’s voice rings out, as usual, she’s the one who speaks for all of them. They stop short, however, when they see that it is not Odin sitting on the throne, but Loki, holding Gungnir as if he owns him.

“My friends,” the new king addresses them, voice calm, face showing no emotion.

“Where’s Odin?” Fandral asks and the four walk down the steps towards the throne.

“Father has fallen into the Odinsleep. Mother fears he may never awaken again.”

Heimdall searches the king’s face. He looks troubled, worried even, but he knows better than to trust what he sees on the outside.

“We would speak with her,” Sif demands.

Clever woman, Heimdall thinks, but Loki is quick to cut her off.

“She has refused to leave my father’s bedside. You can bring your urgent matter to me… Your king.”

He stands up, knocking the end of Gungnir against the floor like Odin does.

The four sink to their knees as is expected of them, putting their fist over their heart as a sign of respect.

“My King, we would ask that you end Thor’s banishment,” Sif cuts straight to the point.

Loki chuckles. “My first command cannot be to undo the Allfather’s last.” He walks down the steps to where the four are still on their knees while he talks, voice soft, words reasonable, but with that twinge of something only Loki inherits. Something that can make you second guess even the honest of words he might give.

“We are on the brink of war with Jotunheim. Our people need a sense of continuity in order to feel safe in these difficult times. All of us must stand together for the good of Asgard.”

Sif jumps up immediately. Always the warrior, Heimdall muses, while Hogun and Fandral hold her back.

Fandral knows better than to upset Loki, thanking him with a smile that’s not meant to be taken as honest. Hogun keeps quiet, ever the observer, but Volstagg tries again, resulting in Loki cutting him off.

“We’re done.” His voice is loud now, impatient, the spear connects with the polished floor with a loud sound.

The four get up and stare at him before leaving and Sif’s the last to go. They all know better than to take Loki’s words as they sound.

Heimdall aims to follow them, aims to keep his eyes on them, but then you cross their way as you step into the palace, sending a friendly smile their way as they storm past you without another glance.

He can see you shiver and look after them, before you walk on, trying not to let their behaviour get to you.

Heimdall’s eyes follow you, almost involuntarily so, as you walk through the hallways. He realizes quickly that you are on your way to the library and he’s ready to convince himself to let you get to work when Loki crosses your way.

“Y/N,” he stops on his way, gesturing towards the guards to leave him alone.

You stop and turn towards him, surprise on your face as you take in his appearance.

“Loki, my friend, why are you dressed like this?”

Loki chuckles and Heimdall feels rage welling up inside him. He fights it down.

“The Allfather has fallen into the Odinsleep. As mother is watching over him and Thor is unattainable, the task of ruling Asgard has fallen to me.”

You look at him, head cocked to the side as you think.

“Am I keeping you from something?” You ask Loki and he laughs softly.

“Not at all. You are on your way to the library, I believe?”  
“I am indeed.”

“Am I allowed to accompany you?”

You gesture for him to lead the way with a smile. Heimdall tells himself that he should look away, should give you privacy even if it is only for the sake of fighting off the jealousy rising it’s ugly head, but he can’t look away when you laugh at something Loki’s told you.

“And how many men have already asked for the opportunity of a handsal?” He teases you.

“None,” you answer truthfully, “But you should know me. I’ve taken matters into my own hands.”

“I believe that means you asked the poor man yourself, but you haven’t showed up on my doorstep yet.”

You push his shoulder with your own, laughing at his joke.

“I did tell you multiple times that I would never marry you.”

“A man can dream, Y/N. Now, who is the lucky one you’ve seeked out among all Asgard?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” you tell him, pulling books from the shelves as you talk. Your choices seem random, but Heimdall believes you to have a system, even though he has not been able to crack it yet.

“Do not tell me you’re asking me to be a witness in his handsal? I hope the man who has caught your eye to be smart and worthy enough to bring his own friends and allies to the formal negotiations with your father.”

“Not that, you fool,” you answer, “But do you remember the time when we were twelve and I saved you from the Bilgesnipe?”

Loki takes a moment to answer, pulling a book from the shelves instead and putting it on top of the pile you’re holding. He rests his hand on the book, gesturing towards another part of the library and right when the two of you step through two pillars, you vanish from Heimdall’s view.

“You want to ask for that favor I said I owe you?” Loki asks you and you nod.

“If it is possible?”

“I will try to see reason.”

You take a breath and look up at the painted ceiling high above you before you look at him again.

“I assume that the Bifrost is closed now, or at least heavily guarded.”

“That is right.”

“Would it be possible to release Heimdall of duty for a few hours? I don’t want to be asking too much, but if you see it as reasonable-”

“Heimdall?” Loki laughs, “The man of your choice is Heimdall?”

Your demeanor changes instantly, your features hardening.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Only that I thought you of better taste.”

“Forget that I asked then!” You snap, pulling the book he had handed you off the pile and chucking it at him.

He catches it easily and steps in your way when you want to move away.

“I am your king,” he reminds you calmly, “Do not forget that when you speak to me.“

“And I am your friend,” you remind him as well, “More importantly I am a woman in love. You do not insult the choice of a woman.”

“I do insult yours,” he answers, stepping closer and putting the book back on your pile, “You choose a man who you can never hide a secret from, a man who will see everything you do and hear everything you whisper.”

“I have never been one to have secrets,” you answer sharply and Loki laughs, pushing the book towards you until it hits your collarbone, “Maybe you should start having them now. Will you be happy again if I take him away from the guard for a few hours?”

“I will be happy if you apologize,” you quip.

“I am afraid the king of Asgard stands above apologies.”

You snort at that. “As if you’d be afraid of anything. If you’d do me that favor, I’d indeed be happy.”

He smirks at that. “Then I will release him from his duty for the day.”

Loki turns to walk back.  He makes it towards the pillars before you call his name, walking up to him again.

“We are friends,” you remind him, “But if you mess this up for me, I will not care what position you are in, I will hurt you.”

“How?” He asks, clearly amused.

“I have my ways.”

“I’ll try to be afraid then,” he teases and turns, walking out of the library.


	6. The Black Book

As Loki leaves the library, the spell is broken. Heimdall can see you again, standing in the middle of the room. You’re already lost in one of the books from your pile, too engrossed to sit down to read. He knows better than to disturb you now and can only hope that whatever magic Loki has used to hide the two from him had been to make him jealous or at least paranoid.

His eyes follow Loki instead, to Odin’s chambers first until he eventually ends up at the Bifrost itself.

“To earth,” he tells Heimdall with a voice that allows no contradiction, “I must speak with Thor immediately.”

“He is currently in a Midgardian confinement,” Heimdall supplies as he prepares the Bifrost, “Midgardians are not used to our powers as they were. I will place you as close as I can without putting Asgard into danger.”

“Ever so cautious,” Loki jokes, his tone smooth enough to pass as harmless, “It is no wonder that you are still without a wife when all you do is avoid risks.”

Heimdall keeps quiet at that, careful not to show any emotion as he opens the Bifrost. Loki is only trying to provoke him.

Heimdall feels his mind pulled towards you the moment the Bifrost closes behind Loki. He keeps his eyes on Loki and his ears open but looks over to you where you’ve just stopped reading.

“Heimdall?” You ask and he can’t help but smile as he answers. He must have heard your thoughts

“Yes?”

“How are the stars?”

“They are still shining,” he answers as lightly as he can.

He does not want to lie to you, but it seems to be the only chance to keep you away from the darkness and danger that he can feel drawing in on Asgard.

“There is nothing else going on?” You ask and he can hear the surprise in your voice.

“Should there be?”

You stop and look up at the ceiling as if you could see him that way.

“I might not be able to see all nine realms at once, but you are keeping something from me.”

“I am afraid that is right,” he confesses, “I happen to know the secrets of every living soul in the nine realms. I have to keep some of them from you.”

“I do understand that,” you claim, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice. You sigh. “It feels different today.”

“I am afraid I cannot do a thing about that, dearest.” He severs the connection to you as the Bifrost demands to be opened again.

Loki steps out and into the gate, sending a demanding glare into Heimdalls direction. “To Jotunheim.”

You stare at the dark wood of the table in front of you, waiting for Heimdall to say something, but instead, you feel the absence of his mind in your head.

You don’t pride yourself on the strength of your intuition, but you can’t help to feel like he is keeping something from you that would be important for you to know.

You heave a sigh and take the book Loki had given to you.

It’s black, without a title and as you open it, unfamiliar letters dance across the pages and settle down only long enough to form words you have never seen before but still make some sense to you. You turn over the pages but the words will have none of it, racing you to the next page until you give up and close the book for a second so you can focus better.

Books who seem alive are no rarity in the Asgardian library. One can call it magic or science, but whatever it is, it’s in everything, even the books.

Some of them are even alive, have their own mind, just like this one. But those are normally stored away in a different section of the library, one you hardly use because the atmosphere there makes you uncomfortable.

You take a deep breath, clean your head as it is ruled when dealing with books like this and open it again on a random page.

The letters immediately start to form words, even pictures start to form in the colorful ink the Asgardians use on everything.

_To hide from the all-seeing eye one has three paths to choose from._

_One, to find the paths that it cannot see._

_Two, to burn the dried leaves of the green myrtle tree._

_Three, follow what I now show thee._

Your fingers gingerly touch the page as the words form a step to step instruction on how to build a bracelet that will make you invisible to the all-seeing eye.

You furrow your brows and carefully turn the page, whispering to the book to show you more.

On the next page, a golden eye looks back at you and the letters form an explanation.

_The all-seeing eye._

_To become a guard of the nine realms, one has to have the power to see all and hear all. A true guard is born with it, but in the times where no true guard walks the realms, this power shall be given to the one who deserves to watch._

Right there in front of you, written in bright red letters, is the detailed description of how to get this power. A power that, as far as you know, only one person in the nine realms holds.

 _Heimdall_.

He must be a true guard then, you think, but the doubt is quick to follow.

Or was he given the power by Odin?

No. Odin has always been more a man of battle than one who uses magic as his tool. It could have been Frigga, for all you know, but why is the book showing you this.

“Show me more,” you tell the book, but as you turn the pages, it just shows you how to hide from the all-seeing eye.

“Anything else?” You snap at it and the eye, drawn out of golden ink, blinks at you.

You close the book and jump up, adamant about getting a breath of fresh air before you try and focus on your studies instead. You won’t open this book again, for sure.

Loki steps out onto the cold surface of Jotunheim, his eyes set on King Laufey sitting on his throne.

His father, he now knows, but he does not feel even a twinge of a positive emotion towards the king.

“Kill him,” the king orders, but Loki smiles at him as if the Frost Giant is just a boy who does not understand a thing.

“After all I’ve done for you?”

Laufey stops and stares him down. “So you’re the one who showed us the way into Asgard.

“That was just a bit of fun, really,” he laughs lightly, “To ruin my brother’s big day and to protect the realm from his idiotic rule for a while longer.”

“I will hear you,” King Laufey allows him to step closer.

Loki presents his offers with a firm voice and a steady gaze.

“I will conceal you and a handful of your soldiers, lead you into Odin’s chambers and you can slay him where he lies.”

“Why not kill him yourself?” The king asks.

Loki laughs again and answers with a smile on his face.

“I suspect that the Asgardians would not take kindly to a king who had murdered his predecessor. Once Odin is dead, I will return the Casket to you…”

King Laufey stands, his expression hungry.

“And you can return Jotunheim to all its, uh…” Loki stops as if he contemplates the word he is about to use, “glory.”

“I accept.”

When Loki returns to Asgard through the Bifrost, Heimdall stares at him in Silence.

“What troubles you, gatekeeper?”

“I turned my gaze to you in Jotunheim, but could neither see you nor hear you… You shrouded me, like the Frost Giants that entered this realm.”

It’s a daring accusation, but an accusation nonetheless. And it’s way less farfetched or paranoid than asking him about what had happened in the library today.

“Perhaps your feelings have clouded your senses. Doesn’t it say that love makes blind?”

Heimdall clenches his teeth before he speaks.

“Or perhaps someone has found a way to hide that which he does not wish me to see.”

Loki seems not faced at all but turns around to scrutinize him.

“You have great power, Heimdall. Did Odin ever fear you?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he is my king and I am sworn to obey him.”

“He was your king and you’re sworn to obey me now,” Loki corrects him and, as he does not answer immediately, asks for confirmation, “Yes?”

Heimdall doesn’t answer for a while. Both men now that his answer decides what is going to happen next. Both men think of what is on the line.

“Yes.”

Loki smiles.

“Then you will open the Bifrost to no one until I have repaired the damage that my brother has done. And for Helheim’s sake go and make that wedding arrangement before your wife-to-be threatens to take the throne from me.”

Heimdall stares at him as he leaves.

Even without his ability to see and hear everything, the mischievous smile on Loki lips must have been noticeable to everyone, even when he’s turned his back already.


	7. Where the marriage i sealed, Y/N's uncle is awful and the Warrior's Three and Sif leave to help Thor

Loki finds you in the library as you’re about to leave.

“I would stay if I were you,” he advises you, “I’ve just sent your lover to see your father and if I know your family right, they won’t want you around for that agreement to be settled..”

“You know nothing,” you snap at him and grab the black book from a nearby table and slap it against his chest, “I don’t know what you had in mind with that book, but you can take it back where you got it from.”

Loki has the audacity to smile.

“So you were able to read it?”

“What? Of course I was able to read it! Have you read it? It’s crazy! It’s telling me to… to…”

“To what?”

You freeze and glare at him.

“Doesn’t matter. What did it tell you to do? What did it show you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” You laugh, “You’re lying.”

He chuckles. “You know me too well. But this book is for you and if it tells you to do as it says, maybe you should.”

“As if. Next, it’s telling me to go around and murder people.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “It’s not. It’s a test. You know that.”

He throws the book back at you. “Knowing you, you’ve just been too nice. That’s a book, not a person. It has to do as you say.”

“It has a mind of its own.”

“That’s what the writer wants you to think. Open it and demand.”

You glare at him. “The hell will I do! This is just a trick of yours!”

“That’s right, it is. A trick to get you to grow up. And if you will not fall for my trick, remember the time when I saved you from the Bilgesnipe?”

His lips turn up into a mischievous grin.

You know he’s won. He knows he’s won.

There is no getting out of it, now that he has used that story on you.

“You want to use that favor I owe you?” You ask him, suppressing a groan, “Just so I keep the book?”

“You should read it too, but I guess for now keeping it is enough.”

“Fine,” you snap and shove the book into your bag, “I’ll keep it, you win. Better prepare for the next favor I’ll ask you because you will regret making me do this.”

-

When Heimdall leaves your house, you’re not yet home, but on the way there.

A part of him wants to wait and talk to you, use the free time on his hands, but even though he’s been asked to leave the Bifrost, he knows he needs to be there anyway, so he slips away.

Your parents will surely tell you everything about the agreements. Maybe not the exact amount of bride-price they had agreed on, but the fact that one of the high council had accompanied him to act as an advocate as it was custom.

You would surely want to know who had sat as a witness during the negotiations and maybe your two uncles and their sons would stay behind to talk with you, even though he hoped not all of them would. At least two of the witnesses had voiced out their concerns in a loud and impolite way.

Just as he stepped onto the Bifrost, he took notice of a conversation not too far away and sent a guard there.

Fandral paced in front of his friend, his annoyance reaching a point on which he had to speak out.

“Our dearest friend banished! Loki on the throne! Asgard on the brink of war! Yet you managed to consume four wild boars, six pheasants, a side of beef and two caskets of ale! Shame on you! Don’t you care?!” He dashes the plate from Volstagg’s hands to the ground.

Volstagg jumps up immediately, anger evident on his face.

“Do not mistake my appetite for apathy!”

If not for Sif, they would have fought.

“Stop it, both of you! Stop! We all know what we have to do!” Her voice is firm and sincere, but it is Hogun who makes their anger vanish with his quiet words of determination.

“We must go. We must find Thor.”

“You speak of treason!” Fandral exclaims in exasperation.

“Forget treason, it’s suicide!” Volstagg points out, but Sif will have none of that.

“Thor would do the same for us!”

They look at each other, knowing what they will and want and have to do, as Volstagg puts a finger to his lips.

“Hush! Heimdall may be watching.”

And as if on cue, an Asgardian Guard opens the door to the chambers they’re in.

“Heimdall demands your presence!”

Volstagg sighs. “We’re doomed.”

As they arrive at the bridge, Heimdall awaits them.

“You would defy the commands of Loki, our king, break every oath you have taken as warriors and commit treason to bring Thor back?”

„Yes,” Sif speaks for all of them, voice firm despite the punishment that awaits an answer like this.

„Good,“ Heimdall steps down and passes them on his way out without looking at four.

“So you’ll help us?“ Sif asks, a bit of hope in her voice.

„I am bound by honor to our king. I cannot open the bridge to you,“ Heimdall answers, but there is a hint of sarcasm in his voice that is usually not there.

„Complicated fellow, isn’t he?“ Fandral comments, but Sif has already spotted what this is all about, grabbing his arm and directing his and the gaze of the others towards the sword in the middle of the gate.

“Look!”

And with that, the Bifrost opens to send the four to earth.

-

You arrive your home, oblivious to the act of treason the warriors three and Lady Sif have just committed, oblivious to the fact that Loki is on his way to the weapons vault to send out the destroyer, oblivious to the fact that Heimdall is watching you closely to make sure you’re safe, far away from all of this.

Your mother awaits you at the front door.

“Oh child, I am happy for you,” she greets you and pulls you in a hug, “Heimdall has just left, the handsal has been made, you are going to marry in a two weeks time.”

You squeak out in surprise and delight, hugging her back.

It takes you a few seconds to realize you are celebrating on the doorstep instead of inside your house.

“Let’s go inside!” You say, “Drink Mead with father and plan the wedding!”

“Father is busy with preparations,” your mother claims and maybe you would have believed her if not for the booming voice of one of your uncles coming from the living rooms.

“I say it is madness! Madness that you called us here to witness and not listen to our words when we speak against this wedding!”

“Dear,” your mother tries to hold you back but you push past her until you’re in the hallways, unseen by your uncle through the closed door of the living rooms, but able to hear everything said.

“It is their wish! She is my only child and if she finds love, I will not go against her will!” Your father exclaims.

“Love is nonsense they teach children in school instead of teaching them how to fight or build a house or feed a family! Marriage is not about love but about securing the family. Love is fleeting and will fade by time and what do they have then? A marriage that will break apart because of how different they are! The mighty guard of Asgard and some young girl that likes to read but knows nothing more! You should have used her beauty as I told you so and marry her to the prince of Asgard who is now king!”

“They are but mere friends,” your father claims and your heart swells with love for him in this moment, as he defends you against that oaf of a man that is your uncle.

“They could have been more if you’d done as I said when they were children. Now you’ve bound an honorable man to a woman who can do no more good for him than bear his children!”

You turn around and storm out of the house, unable to listen to more of this.

You knew that it would not be easy, but being called to dumb to be married is a low blow, even for your uncle.

“I need to breathe,” you tell your mother as you leave and you storm down the narrow street towards the hills.

-


	8. The all-seeing eye

You reach the hills and take a seat on the grass where you empty your bag to distract yourself from your racing thoughts.

A bundle of different dried herbs you bought today, a notebook that is still mostly empty, a bottle of water and the black book Loki has pressured you to take.

You hold it in your hands, angry at yourself, angry at the world.

“I’m just a girl that likes to read,” you tell the book angry and flip it open, expecting it to look just like it had the last time. But now the whole book is filled with those unfamiliar letters.

You grunt angrily and hold the book with both hands, letting your magic run through the papers. Instantly, the letters become readable to you, as if the book just had to realize who’s holding it.

You flip through the pages and look at the spells that it offers.

A drink that lets you sleep, a spell that keeps people from talking out loud… You snort. You should have known that one earlier. A potion to make someone love you blindly and of course, the two pages about the all-seeing eye.

You look down at the bundle in front of your feet and pick up the dried herbs and smile to yourself as you find a few leaves of green myrtle tree. You had bought that for an entirely different reason, but now that you have it with you, you might as well use it.

A gust of wind makes the smoke of the burning leaves encase you. You close your eyes and wrinkle your nose at the smell before flipping the book open again, looking for another spell to try out.

Nothing too daring, because if Heimdall’s still able to see you, you don’t want to have to explain too much.

They don’t sound appealing to you, however. What should you do with a love potion or a sleep drink? There’s no one around you would want to stop from talking and… You stare down at the picture of the all-seeing eye again and anger flares up inside you.

“I’m just a girl who likes to read, huh?” You wonder out loud, “I am no match for the mighty Heimdall? I’d be better off seducing the prince so you can call yourself a relative to the king’s family?”

You try to take a breath to calm yourself down, but it’s in vain.

“I should show you how powerful I am. How talented. What a good match I am.”

You press your fingers against the paper, fighting down the anger.

But the more you think about it, the better it sounds.

.

The ability to see all and hear all. You would be the same as Heimdall, able to understand every problem he comes across during his watch. You’d be truly fitted to be by his side.

But no, a small voice whispers in your ear, think again. This is a powerful spell. Surely it will come with a price.

It used to be done by kings, how high could that price be, you argue against yourself.

Talk to Heimdall then, ask him what he thinks. Surely he’d be able to talk you through it.

You hesitate. There’s no argument against not talking to Heimdall, so far he’s always been kind and understanding.

You sigh and call his name.

No answer. You try three times before you realize that he won’t be able to hear or see you until the effects of the myrtle leaves wear off.

You are alone in this.

And if you can’t show your maturity now, alone, in the middle of an important decision, can you really call yourself a grown up?

You take a deep breath and sit back, looking up at the sky.

What are the consequences?

Sure, you will be able to see and hear everything. You would have something to bond about with Heimdall. Your uncle would have to respect you then.

But there’s this nagging feeling inside your stomach and that can’t be good, right?

There’s no law against it, you remind yourself, staring down at the page, prepping the spell.

You shouldn’t do this.

It’s stupid and risky and unnecessary, you think as you prick your left thumb with the hairpin you had worn today.

You still don’t know what this spell might cost you, you tell yourself, as you smear your bloody thumb onto the page and pull your hand back.

You shouldn’t do this, you realize and still lower your hand to the page.

There’s this nagging feeling inside you but it doesn’t feel bad, it feels more like an urge. An urge to do this, to get the power you deserve, to prove your uncle wrong, to get the change to be the woman Heimdall could love.

You follow the urge and press your hand onto the page and let the magic happen.

.

For the duration of one breath, nothing happens.

And then the magic knocks you over hard enough to make you believe Thor has swung his hammer against you.

You see the universe in front of your eyes, you right at the center, unable to breathe.

Has Odin cast you out? Has Heimdall let him throw you right over the edge of Asgard?

Your head is shrinking or is your mind expanding far beyond what your skull can hold?

Everything hurts but you can’t remember what is your body and what is not, how to open your mouth to scream or to breathe in and out instead.

You will die, you think, the first coherent thought for what feels like hours but must be seconds.

With another surge of pain that feel like someone has poured melted gold into your eyes, you can see.

Nine Realms. Ten trillion souls.

So much wisdom, so much happening, so much life and death, happiness and sadness.

Then there’s the sensation of someone stabbing scorching hot knives into your ears and with the pain comes the ability to hear. So many words, so many languages, so many words.

Laughter, crying, screaming, whispers. The ripple of water, the crackle of a fire, ice melting, stone breaking, wind rustling the leaves of trees, a car breaking.

It’s too much, too much, too much, you want to say, you can’t take it, never will.

But there’s no stopping of it, no ceasing of sound or sight.

And you still haven’t moved, floating around in the center of the universe, ready to just give up and die, to let these sensations consume you entirely.

What about Heimdall, something inside you whispers and you try to remember that name or what it means.

“Heimdall”, you whisper and the Universe turns and turns around you until you feel dizzy and sick.

But the movement, as uncomfortable as it is, helps to clear your head, if only for the second that it takes the all-seeing eye to refocus.

I want to see Heimdall, you think and there he is, standing in his place on the Bifrost.

He’s looking straight ahead, not seeing you at all.

“What are you looking at?” You ask him all the same and instead of him answering, the universe turns again.

Dust and sand, a few dull looking houses, a few dry streets.

Something falling from the sky, shaking you in surprise. It’s the destroyer.

The weapon walks, fires, lights up the machines that are standing on the side. Are those horseless carriages?

You follow the weapon, trying to see what it’s looking for.

And there he is, in the middle of the street. Thor.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, but he can’t hear you.

Heimdall, you think, trying to find where your mind ends and the all-seeing eye begins, trying to find a way back into your body. You have to warn Heimdall.

But you can’t get out.

You’re trapped in your mind as it transports you back to the Bifrost where you watch, useless, unable to act, unable to call or get Heimdall’s attention.

Why isn’t he doing anything? Doesn’t he see what’s happening?

Footsteps reverberate from the Bifrost. You see Sif trying to stop the destroyer, see Heimdall waiting for the man coming down the bridge, see Loki taking one step after the other.

“Tell me Loki, how did you get the Jotuns into Asgard?” Heimdall asks and you stop your useless fight to get back into your body to listen.

To your surprise, Loki stops and smiles as if he’s taking pride in this accusation.

“You think the Bifrost is the only way in and out of this realm?”

No, you think, no, Loki, you idiot! Don’t tell me you did this! This is not a joke!

You scream at him, but your voice is lost on them. Whatever you are right now, you’re invisible to them, the sound of your voice could never reach their ears.

“There are secret paths between the worlds to which even you, with all your gifts, are blind,” Loki spits out, “But I have need of them no longer, now that I am king. And I say, for your act of treason, you are relieved of your duties as Gatekeeper, and no longer citizen of Asgard.“

You gasp, can’t help it. Not that they’d hear you anyway.

„Then I need no longer obey you,“ Heimdall answers, calm but determined. He draws his sword, ready to strike. You want to throw yourself in between, but before you can even think of screaming, Loki pulls something out of nowhere and right as you recognize it as the legendary casket of Jotunheim, he freezes Heimdall.

You can’t do anything but watch as the man you love turns into ice and the man you called your friend changes into a Frost Giant before your eyes, walking past Heimdall as if he does not care at all.

.

Your eyes hurt, your ears hurt, your chest hurts.

You feel your grip on reality weakening, your sanity cracking under the pressure of what is happening right now.

You can see Thor almost die on Midgard in his cast out mortal form.

Frost Giants step out of the Bifrost Loki has opened.

This positively feels like the end of the world as you’ve known it.

Oh, how you’d wish you could just die, let your last breath leave your lips and give up.

But you can’t even get out of this form, can’t close your eyes from the truth or shield your ears from the words Loki speaks as he tells one of the Frost Giants the way to Odin’s chambers.

“I want to go back”, you whisper, weakly at first but desperate right after, “I want to go back into my body. Give me back my consciousness!”

You don’t beg, you demand.

And it seems to work. At least it feels as if the Universe is being folded up until it fits into your skull again and it only so much as gently presses against it from the inside, trying to push your own mind out because it needs so much space in your head.

You can feel your body again, limbs heavy, face sticky, skin clammy and cold.

Too exhausted to move, barely able to breathe, you lie still.

You can still see everything happening.


	9. Loki falls

You lie on the damp grass hill, unable to move or talk, or think, unable to pull yourself out of this state you’re in, forced to see everything happening around you.

The world, as you know it, does not end. But time does not stop moving either.

You can see Odin shed a tear in his Odinsleep shortly before Thor gets Mjolnir back and with this weapon everything he has been before.

He takes down the destroyer and demands to be called back to Asgard where Frost Giants run Amok and Heimdall is still frozen in place.

But with every time Thor calls for him, Heimdall manages to crack the ice more until he breaks free and strikes the two Frost Giants guarding him. He’s barely able to open the Bifrost and you can watch him topple over right beside it, unable to help.

.

Someone’s calling your name. It’s your mother’s voice, tumbling in with all the other sounds.

“By Odin, Y/N! What happened?! We have to get her to the healing room!”

You feel your body being lifted up, but you’re unable to move, to speak, to blink even.

“Heimdall!” One of the warriors three calls out as they step out of the Bifrost and see the Guard lying on the floor.

“Get him to the healing room!” That’s Thor who’s making his way towards the palace.

You’re being moved, but your mind’s unable to shut down, unable to look away.

King Laufey of Jotunheim tries to kill King Odin but is stopped by Loki.

For the briefest of moments, you are relieved, believing in his innocence once again. You know Loki, know him to always have a plan up his sleeve, but he proves you wrong in all the wrong ways as he opens the Bifrost to destroy Jotunheim once and for all.

“This is madness, brother!” Thor yells and you have to agree just as cool hands lift you up and you hear the soul forge whirr to life above you.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” The healer asks you but you are unable to speak or even open your eyes, unable to do anything but watch as Thor and Loki fight, unable to do anything but listen when the Bifrost shatters under Mjolnirs hits.

“She’s in a shock,” a voice above you says as you feel a tear slip out of your eye right when Loki lets go of the spear, falling to his death.

Something hits you, paralyzes you and you take a gasping breath before falling into darkness only to awaken to the warmth of the healing room.

“Welcome back,” someone says above you, the voice slightly muffled.

You blink. Your eyes feel like someone has treated them with sandpaper and there are bright colorful spots everywhere in your vision.

“What-” You croak out, “Happened?”

“You gave us quite a scare. You suffered a sudden feeling of faintness and must have hit your head badly. You bled out of your ears and eyes.”

“I… did?”

You blink again, something like a face appearing above you. It looks distorted as if your eyes have not yet adjusted to the new conditions.

“Yes. Now sleep, we will take care of you.”

.

When Heimdall regains his consciousness, he keeps his eyes closed and his body still, letting his body catch up first.

He’s in the healing room, a thin bed sheet covering him. The only noise is the steady breathing of him and another person. He allows his all-seeing eyes to get to work so he can see without opening his eyes. The healing room is bathed in a warm golden light. His bed is the only occupied one, but you are sitting in the chair next to him, head sunken forward as you sleep, your chin resting on your chest as you snore softly. Your left hand rests on the mattress next to his elbow and when he moves just an inch to the left, your fingertips grace his skin.

He opens his eyes and slowly lifts his hand to put it on yours. He does not mean to wake you, but the moment he touches you, your head snaps up and you stare at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of fear and shock.

“Relax, it’s me.”

You take three long breaths to calm yourself down before you groan and roll your head from one side to the other. Your neck must be stiff from sleeping in this position.

He takes in your appearance as you take your time waking up.

Your eyes look swollen and puffy, the white streaked with red. Did you cry?

Your face has an ashy tone to it as well and he wonders how bad he must have been knocked out that the healers have let you stay here with him in the condition you’re in.

“What happened?” He asks and you laugh hoarsely.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know,” you ask in disbelief, “You see and hear everything.”

“Not when I’m unconscious.”

.

You fall silent for a moment before you move your fingers under his. He squeezes your hand.

“Loki is dead,” you tell him, your voice sounding clinical, “He… well,” you take a breath, trying to find a way to describe what you have seen, “I think he tried to make Odin proud in a way that could never work out.”

“You were friends,” Heimdall states, not as a question, but as a fact.

“Yes,” you say. There is nothing more to add to that.

You take another gulp of air to get yourself together.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“There are many things I remember,” he answers vaguely and you bite back the anger. He’s still trying to protect you, not knowing that you have seen it all.

“Apparently Loki has sent the Destroyer down to earth to kill Thor,” you tell him curtly and watch his eyes widen as he realizes that the secret is already out, “And Thor, who had been cast out, managed to get back Mjolnir and defeat the Destroyer, but as far as I am informed, you were already frozen by then.

“I was,” Heimdall recalls softly, “Loki…”

“Used the Casket on you, I’ve been told.” Your voice sounds hard, angry even and you sigh and duck your head, squeezing his hand.

“Sorry,” you whisper, “I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at him. I don’t understand how he could do such a thing.”

“What else did he do?” Heimdall squeezes your hand back, gently urging you to talk.

“He opened the Bifrost to let the Jotuns into Asgard.”

Heimdall nods. “I remember that. I struck two of them down when I broke out of the ice.”

“King Laufey managed to get into the King’s chambers but Loki killed him there before he could hurt Odin.”

Heimdall furrows his brows. “He did? But why?”

“And after that, he opened the Bifrost again and left it open so it would destroy Jotun,” you whisper and watch his eyes grow wide.

“Thor managed to close it,” you tell him, “But the Bifrost… the gate is gone. And Loki too.”

“I must have been unconscious at that time,” Heimdall mumbles back, raising one hand to rub his temples. Surely the news must be hard on him.

“I believe Sif and the Warriors Three brought you to the Healing Room. We will have to give them the best table on our wedding as a sign of our gratitude.” You half-joke but watch him carefully as he answers.

“Our wedding…” he mumbles and heaves a sigh as he sits up in bed, smiling at you, “That sounds nice.”

You breathe out in relief, not realizing how afraid you’d really been until your fear proved to be unfounded.

Heimdall was still willing to marry you, even after your so-called best friend had tried to kill him, even after your uncle has most likely told him that every other Asgardian woman would be a better match for him.

“You look unwell,” he mumbles and reaches out his hand to push back a strand of hair that had come loose, “Did something else happen?”

You look for the words to tell him. Tell him about the book Loki’s given you, that he had asked you to grow up. The words your uncle had used, the arguments you had found yourself.

But you felt something hold you back.

A bit of fear, because now, on this new morning, listening to Loki had a whole new meaning to it. Because letting yourself get provoked by your uncle did not seem so mature anymore.

And was there even a way to convince Heimdall that it had all been real?

You did not know where the book was or if he would be able to read it. The soul forge had not seen any change happening to you.

What if it really had just been a sudden feeling of faintness? What if you really had just hit your head on a stone and all you’d seen was what you’d heard people talk about while you were only half conscious?

“Dearest?” Heimdall asks and you pull your lips up into a half-smile that expresses a feeling of shame, but in a fully different context as you speak on.

“Nothing has happened. I was but worried by your well-being.”

He smiles and cups your cheek as you smile back, hoping that the nagging feeling of uneasiness will come to rest one day.

“So,” you change the topic, “You met my family?”


	10. The wedding

The weeks following the great “Loki incident” are almost uneventful. Well, as uneventful as planning a wedding can be, when there’s word of rebellion in all of the nine realms and a Bifrost to be built anew.

You barely manage to get away for an hour or two to keep up with your studies in the midst of it all, but your mother is more than happy to plan the wedding on your own. All you have to do is step in when she’s going overboard again.

Sometimes, especially when it’s late at night and you can’t sleep again, you slip out of bed and pull out the box you’ve hidden under your bed, pulling out the black book Loki had given to you. It had been where you left it, on the grassy hills near your home. You never open the book though, afraid of what it might tell you if you did.

Afraid, too, that another step into this direction might cost you what you’ve always wanted: Heimdall.

So you keep quiet and your head low, smile when you’re spoken too and take long walks through the woods whenever you can as it seems to be the only thing to soothe the throbbing pain in your head you’ve been experiencing since that one night.

You’d love to walk down to the bridge where Heimdall stands and watches, but your family watches over you more than ever, telling you off for everything you could do wrong.

Eventually all you have left to do is sit on your chair and wait for your mother and the maid to place the bridal crown on your head, a heirloom that is unique to every family and is worn only during the wedding festivities.

Ever since the day your mother had showed it to you you had wanted to wear it and now it was time. The crown was made from silver, with pints ending in clover leaves for good luck, set with rock-crystal and garlanded with silk cords in the colors of your family crest. Your hair had been left open as it was custom.

“Mother,” you ask as you watch her brush your hair, “Did you… do you ever have secrets from father?”

She looks up at you in surprise.

“Secrets? Like what?”

“I don’t know, things… stuff you did that you did not tell him about?”

She furrows her brows. “What stuff would I do that I could not tell him about? I mean I don’t have to tell your father every single thing I do each day for sure, is that what you mean?”

“No, I… what if I have a secret, what would I do? Do I tell Heimdall or-”

“Oh silly,” your mother softly pats your cheek, “Calm down, love, those are just your nerves acting up. You know Heimdall sees and hears everything, you don’t have to worry about secrets, love.”

“But-”

“Do you not want to marry him?” Your mothers asks, lowering the brush. “Is that what you are trying to tell me? Because if you do not want to marry him, now would be the best time to tell me as a divorce is possible, but difficult, dear.”

“No! No, mother, I want to marry him, I just-”

She breathes out in relief and pats your shoulder, “I told you, it’s the nerves. That is normal. Now, I’ll get the maid to bring you some mead and some lavender tea for your nerves. Remember that we’ve already brought all your belongings to your new home and that the herbs are in the-”

“Wooden box with the insignia, yes, mother, I know.”

“Do you want to go over everything again? Would that help you?”

No, you think, but you smile and nod, because revising everything might at least occupy your thoughts.

“Valerian for your dreams during the night,” your mother reminds you as she brushes through your hair, “But Lady’s Mantle before you go to bed as we want you two to have a heir as soon as possible, right?”

“Right, mother,” you answer tiredly and force a smile as the door opens and your maid steps in, the polished crown in her hands.

The wedding ceremony feels like a dream. A good one, yes, but not quite real, as if nothing can quite touch you..

Some parts just don’t make it into your mind at all, like how you can’t even say how you got from your house to where the wedding takes place or how you did not notice Frigga standing next to Odin, smiling at you, until the ceremony has almost come to an end.

Heimdall hands you the sword of his ancestors. One of your duties as his wife is to take care of the sword until you give birth to his son who will in turn give the sword to his wife on the day of his wedding.

You hand Heimdall the sword you had brought him as is tradition, as a wedding gift of the bride to her groom. The ancestral sword signifies the traditions of the family and the continuation of the bloodline, while the new sword you give symbolizes the transfer of your father’s power of guardianship and protection to Heimdall.

You recite the explanations in your head, not sure if it is to calm you down or if it is because you have read it so many times that you can’t help but have it memorized.

The sword catches the sunlight and reflects it, bathing Heimdall’s face in flecks of gold, pulling you out of your revery.

You offer each other the rings on the hilts of the swords.

Heimdalls hand is warm on yours, the skin on his fingers rough against yours as he slips the ring onto your finger. You do so as well and your hands join upon the sword-hilts as you speak your vows.

Odin declares you husband and wife and Heimdall leans down to press his lips softly against yours.

It’s an innocent kiss and a short one as well. His lips touch yours barely long enough for your mind to register it, for your heart to stumble in its rhythm.

He takes your hand to lead you as you make your way to the the feast itself, the celebration of your wedding.

You stumble a bit as your head catches up.

You’re married.

Heimdall is yours, you are his.

Relief floods you and you squeeze Heimdalls hand to convey at least the tiniest bit of what you’re feeling right now.

You’ve made it this far, surely it can only get better from here on.

.

The feast itself is something you had quietly feared.

So many people in one place and everyone’s talking at once and if they were not talking, their eyes were set on you as they are right now.

You try to tell yourself that they are happy for you and if they aren’t, than they’re only waiting for you to serve Heimdall the bridal ale, your first duty as wife and the first drink you two would share as it was custom.

To say you were worried about accidently spilling it was an understatement, but somehow you managed just fine, sighing softly as you watch him take a sip before he gives the cup back to you.

As soon as you take your sip, the crowd erupts in cheers and the feast officially begins.

Now you only have to smile and nod and look happy until it is time for you and Heimdall to be lead home from the feast.

A warm hand takes yours just below the table and squeezes it softly.

You look up to Heimdall smiling at you.

“I am at your side,” he tells you softly, “Always. I promise.”

You almost break out in tears at that, but you squeeze his hand back instead as you are unable to answer.

.

As it turns out, you should not have been so scared of the feast.

This time you’re sitting a bit higher up and can look over the people who are there. You can see them laughing and chatting and eating and more than once Heimdall points something out to you that makes you laugh or smile.

Whenever someone comes by to talk to you, he takes the lead in the conversation until you feel comfortable with joining in and as you get up to leave hours later, his arm is slung around your back, guiding you but protecting you as well.

.

“Thank you,” you tell Heimdall quietly as he helps you over the threshold of your home, the laughter of your friends fading as they walk back to the feast, leaving you alone for the night.

“I assume you’re not thanking me for helping you in?” Heimdall asks, his voice a bit heavy from all the mead, but warm and safe nonetheless.

“No,” you agree, “I was thanking you for taking care of me.”

He smiles and lights up the lamps in the bedroom until everything is encased in a warm golden light.

There’s a cup of tea on one of the tables next to the bed, a small plate of clay on top keeping the tea from cooling out too fast.

“Oh,” you sigh and take the plate off so you can take a ginger sip of the tea, “My mother just needs to think of everything.”

“What is it?” Heimdall asks as you take another sip.

“Lady’s Mantle,” you explain, “It’s… well, it is supposed to improve a woman’s fertility.”

He laughs softly and you force yourself not to look away in shame. This is your husband after all.

“And the root here?” He points towards a small bowl that has been placed next to the window, “Is that for me?”

“No, that is Valerian. I’m supposed to burn it before we go to sleep as my dreams will be interpreted.”

He smiles and hands you a candle to burn light the roots.

The smoke burns in your eyes at first and you sway for a moment as your headache increases to the point where you feel almost sick, but then it fades into the back of your head again and you look up to Heimdall lifting your bridal crown of your head.

He puts it to the side before cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs softly stroking your cheeks.

For a moment he looks hesitant and you raise yourself on your tiptoes to kiss him, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

You can feel his lips pull into a smile against your own before he kisses you back.


	11. The first dream

You are walking through an ice desert, your eyes focused on the uneven floor beneath your naked feet.

Every breath you take freezes into a white fog and the floor is frozen beneath your feet, but you don’t feel cold even though you’re only wearing a thin nightgown.

“Hello?” You call out, your voice small in this vast blueish-white desert.

“Hello? Where am I? Is anybody there?”

You walk on, waiting for someone to answer your calls, but the only thing you can hear is the cracking of the moving ice.

And then, the ice just stops.

You stand right at the edge of a cliff, looking down into darkness.

“Is this Jotunheim?” You ask and your voice echoes off the frozen walls.

No one answers.

You sigh and turn around to head back where you’ve come from, but a loud crack lets you freeze in place.

Your body does not move, but your eyes race over the ice beneath you, looking for a rift in the ice. And surely, there it is, just a few feet away from you.

Slowly, you take a breath, calculating how much force you will need to be able to jump over it.

With another cracking sound, it opens up even more and you throw your calculations overboard and run, hoping you will make the jump. You don’t.

You scream as you fall, darkness enveloping you.

You land on a pad of black gravel that moves with you, transporting you a few feet along until it stops eventually.

As you look up to the sky you realize that the stars are different than your own. This is not your realm, but these stars look even more unfamiliar than those before.

You get up slowly, righting your nightgown as you walk over the gravel.

There’s a flashing light in the distance and you move towards it but not entirely on your own will. It feels like something is pushing you to go on.

You don’t reach the flashing lights. They are still too far away for you to see much as you hear a distant noise growing louder and nearer. You turn to see a group of people walking towards you. You freeze.

They must have spotted you already, but the noise does not change. Either the sight of a young woman in a nightgown on this ghastly place is nothing out of the ordinary or this is just as unreal as your trip to Jotunheim.

The group comes close enough for you to see them clearly. You count at least thirteen people that look at least a bit human but their arms are tied and they are guarded by grey-fleshed creatures which gruesome faces.

None of them look your way, not even as they walk by directly in front of you.

This must be a dream, but you can’t understand why you would dream of such a thing.

But then, right at the end of the group, you see black hair and green fabric and your heart comes to a stuttering halt.

“Loki!” You call, “Loki!”

His eyes are swollen, his face looks ashen, his hands are tied.

But despite this, he does not look dead. Or is this Helheim?

“Loki!” You call him again, but he does not acknowledge your presence in any way.

But one of the guards turns around and looks your way as if he’s heard you.

You step back in fear, but can’t help to call your friend again.

“Loki!”

Loki walks on but the creature steps away from the group and grabs his weapon.

You take another step back and as it aims, you turn around and run.

Pain shoots through your leg and you fall to the ground but there’s no gravel beneath your body but soft linen.

Your eyes snap open, your breathing rushed.

You are curled into a ball, your body pressed against that of Heimdall in the bed that is now yours too.

It had only been a dream, but a ghastly one.

Slowly, quietly, you slip out of bed.

You sway on your feet when you take the first step, the pounding in your head has returned.

You hold yourself upright by clutching the wall as you walk through the dark hallway and into the small bathroom. A basin with cold water stands ready for the morning and you wash your face and rub peppermint oil into your temples to soothe the pain.

This time, the peppermint won’t help.

Your head feels like it has been filled with a red-hot piece of coal that is growing in size every day, trying to push your mind out through your eyes.

You look into the basin, expecting to see nothing more than your reflection. Instead, you see a ring of glowing orange light, the same color as Heimdall’s eyes.

It grows and grows as if it’s rising to the surface of a pond and while you look at it, you feel yourself being drawn to it, to the point where you dip your head into the water to be closer to the light.

The moment your face breaks the water’s surface, you’re floating again, your body lost but your mind set free amidst the branches of Yggdrasil.

The all-seeing eye, you realize as your magic comes to life around you, the spell has indeed worked. Or is this but another dream?

.

“Show me Loki,” you demand of your magic, but you stay where you are.

“Great!” You grumble softly, “What is this magic for, this so-called all-seeing eye when I can never see the things I want to?”

No one answers. Of course not.

“Show me anything, then!” You growl, “Anything of importance!”

The worlds spin around you and halt their movement again. In front of your eyes is a room on Midgard, a man with dark hair and a short beard standing in the doorway, a glass in his hand as he looks out the windows at the sea. Another man, dressed in black steps out. One of his eyes is covered by a black eyepatch, reminding you of Odin’s own golden eyepatch.

“Stark,” the man with the eyepatch says, “I am here to talk to you about something. It’s called the Avengers initiative.”

You heave a sigh.

“What is so important about this?” You wonder out loud, “I have no way to prove if this has really happened or not. Show me…” You stop. If you could take a look at Thor or anyone else still awake on Asgard, you’d be able to ask them tomorrow and see if you really have the all-seeing eye. But do you even want to know?

“I want to go back,” you demand, turning away from the two Midgardian men.

You slip into your body with greater ease this time, pulling your head out of the wash basin to breathe.

The room is spinning around you as you sink to the floor, pressing your forehead against your knees, trying to calm yourself down.

Either you’re going mad or you’ve made a mistake that you can’t take back. Neither of this options sounds appealing to you.

.

You dry your face and slip into the kitchen where your herbs are stored away. You force yourself to pick only the ones you need, pushing some of it into your mouth to chew on it.

You fill a cup with water and take it with you, swallowing down the remains of the herbs when you reach the bed, tiredness seeping into your bones again.

You slip into bed and curl into a ball again. Heimdall might be your husband now, but it will take some time to get used to his body next to yours.

.

A large, warm hand rubs your back, moving in soothing circles.

You heave a sigh. Your head feels to heavy for your body, your limbs ache softly, but your mind fights against sleep nonetheless and you slowly open your eyes.

Heimdall is looking at you, no smile on his lips but one in his eyes.

“Wake up,” he whispers, “Your mother is already on the way.”

“On the way to where?” You ask back and rub your eyes with a yawn.

“On your way to you. First, they will help you get ready,” His words are underlined by the movement of his hand on your back, something that does not help you waking up at all, “While they do that, they will ask you about the dreams you’ve had tonight. And then they will take you to the great hall where I pay you the morning gift in front of witnesses to fully seal this marriage.”

“Five more minutes?” You mumble and he laughs softly at that.

“If you want to, I’ll let you rest five more minutes. But I will get dressed in the meantime. I do not want to meet your mother wearing nothing but my underwear.”

You hum instead of an answer and press your faces into the pillows for a moment, absentmindedly listening to him getting walking around the room.

When the bathroom door closes behind him, your mind finally registers what he had said.

Your mother. The dreams. Loki!

Your eyes snap open and you slip out of bed the next moment, a little bit too fast for your body that sends you to the floor.

You groan and try to push yourself up with shaking arms.

Warm hands pull you up instead, worried golden eyes meeting yours.

“Everything okay?” Heimdall asks and you try to ignore that he’s naked.

“Yes,” you croak, deciding on something that is the truth, just not all of it, “It’s just… I was a virgin?”

He laughs softly and drops you on the bed, his right hand caressing your left cheek for a moment.

“Take your time, dearest. You still have at least fifteen minutes before your mother arrives.”

You avert your eyes as he leaves the room again, trying not to see too much of him while trying to come up with a dream that is less scary than the one you had. One with a meaning that would satisfy your mother.

It is hard to remember everything you’ve read about dream interpretation when your head is hurting like it does, a dull throbbing pain that hasn’t ceased much since you’ve hit your head on the night Loki died.

But did he die? Did you really hit your head?

There are so many questions and you do not dare to ask Heimdall for answers.

Dream Interpretations. Focus, Y/N!

Temperature can be a sign of fertility, you remember and shiver involuntarily when you remember the ice desert that had looked like Jotunheim. Fruits are a sign of motherhood as well. You thread your fingers through your hair and massage your scalp, looking for a bit of relief from the pain. You will have to do something about that. Soul forge or library, but you won’t be able to take this pain much longer.

By the time your mother arrives with your old governess and a girl you remember from your dance classes, you are sitting at the kitchen table clothed in a nightgown and the skirt you want to wear today, a shoe on your left leg, a stocking on your right, your hair left open as you eat the apple Heimdall has cut into pieces for you. He’s smiling softly, sitting across from you, fully dressed, ready to go out.

“Y/N!” Your old governess calls out in shock, “What, by Odin, are you wearing?”

“I was told you are supposed to help me get ready. I did not want to stay in bed but I did not want to welcome you wearing almost nothing,” you explain, happy to see the twinkle of amusement in Heimdall’s eyes at your words.

Your mother just heaves a sigh. “Well, if you will come with us, then, dear?”

“I will see you in the Hall then,” Heimdall bids you goodbye, leaning across the table to kiss your cheek before leaving.

You watch him leave and get up from the table, following your mother into your bedroom.

“Now, what did you dream?” The governess asks, her tone as nosy as ever.

You furrow your brows as you think of what you’ve chosen as your lie. “At first it was cold,” you say and the governess gasps in shock, but you carry on, “But then it got warmer and warmer until it felt like summer heat. I was walking amidst trees, all carrying different fruit and the branches were heavy with fruit. I saw a creak and the water was glistening in the sun, making it look like gold and then… I think there was a shield on the ground of the creak… but when I tried to pull it out of the water, I woke up.”

“Oh, what a wonderful dream!” The young girl calls out, pulling you into a hug you had not anticipated. You stiffen and she lets go of you again.

“Do you know what this dream means?” She asks and you shake your head no. Another lie.

“The cold, in the beginning, means infertile,” the governess explains, her nose crinkled in something like disgust.

“But then warmth, that means you might have a difficult start, but then you will surely become a mother. The trees, heavy with fruit, mean the same.”

“Water, glistening like gold,” your mother muses, “You will have wealth.”

“But a shield?” The governess shakes her head, “Are you sure it was a shield and not a sword?”

“Why? Is that important? Is it bad?”

“It is very good,” your mother interrupts as the governess tries to speak up, “A shield means safety. This is a dream I would wish for you, despite the difficult start you might get. But you are young, surely you will just need your time to grow into your body.”

You smile in return and lean back in your chair so she can fully assess your hair.

The three women are happily chatting away, your dream the main topic of their conversation.

If only the dream had been real.


	12. to hold on and to let go

Three days.

It takes you three days to find a cure for your headache.

Three days that you spend tired and aching, fighting to never stop smiling while your mother and her maid help you move into Heimdalls home for real. Fighting to keep calm and look happy when the only breaks you’re able to get are filled with the mindless chatters of so-called friends and family. You know they’re only coming over to find out how the great Heimdall lives and now that he’s away during the day and they have the excuse of your wedding to come by, they’re all taking the chance.

You’re exhausted by the time Heimdall comes home from his watch.

You’ve seen nothing but the insides of the house all day, had no time to read, no time to rest and despite the fact that you’re longing for fresh air, the view from the hills or just a simple chat that is about something other than newborns, cozy homes, and new dresses, you’re barely able to listen to Heimdall talk about his day.

You doze off the moment your head hits the soft mattress, fast asleep the moment Heimdall slips into bed beside you.

.

And then you wake up in the middle of the night because your neck is stiff and your head feels like someone’s trying to split it apart and you wriggle out of Heimdall’s hold to cool your forehead in the wash basin and search the nine realms for someone who is not there.

After three days, the words slip out of your lips before you even think of them.

“Does your head ever hurt from all the things you’re seeing?” You ask one morning when Heimdall waking up has woken you up as well and he’s slipping out of bed.

He halts in his movement and you keep your eyes closed, your heart racing with fear as you wait for him to realize why you’re asking this.

“Sometimes,” he admits, “When I was younger.”

You crack one eye open to look up at him.

He answers the question he reads in your gaze.

“I was born with this gift,” he tells you, “But I had to master it like everyone has to master their gifts.”

“How?” You whisper and he smiles down at you.

“By accepting it. I was afraid of what I could see and the fact that I could never feel alone when I was aware of everyone else all the time, really bothered me. I tried to block out what I did not want to see, but it just made my head hurt, as if the realms and the people I pushed away from me rebelled against that treatment.”

“So you’re always looking at everything?”

“It’s like a river,” he takes a seat on the mattress and smiles down at you. His happiness confuses you until you realize that you might be the first person he ever got to share this with. You take his hand into yours, pushing away the nagging thoughts of self-hate that linger at the back of your mind and listen to him.

“Everything I see and hear is like the water that’s coursing through the river. I can plant my feet on the ground and take it all in when I need it, but when I need to move, or focus, I swim and let the water flow like it wants too.”

“That is a great comparison,” you tell him and his smile broadens.

“I’ve got a long time to think about it.”

You laugh softly even though your heart clenches painfully and you try to lighten the mood.

“Are you telling me you listen to people talking in Vanaheim while you’re kissing me?” You tease him.

“I like to focus on you during that time,” he teases you back and slips out of bed.

You turn to stare at the ceiling when he walks around the room and you hear him laugh.

“Are you still unable to look at me when I’m not fully dressed?”

“It’s been only three days,” you remind him.

“You’re so innocent,” he says and you’re sure he means it as a compliment, but the words burn on your skin.

You’re not innocent. You’re a liar.

“Can I come with you today?” You ask, even though you’d like to stay back and learn how to “swim” like he had phrased it.

“Are you afraid your mother is coming around again?”

“I’m not afraid of my mother,” you reply and look up when he does not answer right away. He’s sending you a look that needs no words.

“Okay, I’m a little bit afraid of my mother,” you correct yourself, “But I think we cleaned up everything, which means she has no reason to come over today and if I have to listen to one more woman telling me which room I should make into a nursery, I’m going to scream.”

“Three days,” he tells you, “And you haven’t even seen the garden yet.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at that. It’s no answer to your question and no meaningful reply to anything you’ve said so far, but he beckons you to follow him, so you slip out of bed, regain your balance and follow him towards the door that leads out of the house.

“I’ve seen that,” you tell him, “There’s nothing more but a patch of grass and the hen house.”

“You haven’t looked close enough then,” he tells you and leads you out into the damp grass towards the stone wall encasing what you had thought was the smallest garden on Asgard.

Heimdall walks right through the stone wall and stops, so that you can only see his left arm sticking out beneath the walls.   
You grab his hand and he pulls you through the illusions onto a small clearing surrounded by tall, old trees. There’s a small creak on the right edge of the clearing, the stones forming a small pool.

“It’s a hot spring,” Heimdall explains and points towards the pool, “My mother used to cook with the hot water. We can build you a stable for your horse and other useful things you’d like.”

You’re unable to speak for a moment, just stand there, mouth wide open, staring at the space and the fresh air and back at the illusion of a stone wall that isn’t visible from this side.

“Why did you build an illusion in your own garden?”

“I didn’t. It was my mother’s work. My father liked to have visitors and she did not want to be watched when she was out in the garden. I’ve never felt like I needed to undo her work.”

“That is…” you fall silent and squeeze his hand instead, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, dearest. Now, do you want to stay in the garden for a bit or do you want to have breakfast with me?”

“Breakfast,” you decide. You don’t want to leave the garden so quickly after you’ve entered it, but you won’t see Heimdall for the rest of the day and the way he cuts up fruits for you to eat has something so endearing to it that you wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.

.

As a child, you had seen marriage as a clear construct.

Your mother knew her way around the kitchen and let everyone feel her love through the meals she prepared or how she made sure that your dresses always fit your needs, even if your needs were all about running through the forest.

Growing up you never quite knew what your father’s work was all about, but you remembered how, no matter in what mood he was, he always kissed your mother goodbye when she handed him his lunch and smoothed down his clothes.

Through all the relationships you had encountered, you couldn’t quite shake the belief that for a marriage to be real it needed a goodbye kiss every single day.

Now, stepping on your tiptoes to kiss Heimdall goodbye, you realized that it needed way more than that. But it was a good step to begin with.

Your plan sounded as simple as it was difficult to work out.

First, accept your sight and get over that headache.

Second, learn to make Heimdall lunch.

Third, get back to your studies.

.

It did not seem to matter where you started with your first step and you longed for fresh air, so you stepped out into the garden as soon as you had found clean, comfy clothes to put on instead of your nightgown.

The sun was starting to rise, bathing the clearing in a soft light.

You sat down cross-legged on the damp grass and looked around. No stone in sight you could hit your head on.

“If this works I can be positive that it was not a dream,” you whisper to yourself before you will yourself to slip into the same magic you have felt three days prior.

Your toes tingle, your fingertips itch, but nothing happens.

You heave a sigh and stretch out on the floor, the damp coolness of the ground soothing your headache as you look up at the sky.

You blink against the exhaustion weighing you down, the dizziness making you feel like you’re floating, towards the sky.

You call for your magic again and with a cool gush of wind all the walls surrounding you are blown away as you turn and turn and see your neighbors waking up and the bakers three streets away pulling fresh bread from their oven. Everyone, from the fishers in the haven to your cousin living on the other side of Asgard, taking her baby from the crib.

Your headache stops, eases down to nothing but a quiet buzzing in the back of your mind. It feels as if the worlds had been a spread out on a piece of fabric and to put it all in your head you had bunched up the fabric and pushed it inside, but now, as it lies spread out in front of you, there is no pain.

Carefully you will yourself to move, to swim, as Heimdall had called it.

You have to believe that you can do it too, that you can let everything flow in this river while you swim. Letting it flow meant letting go and you let the magic slip from your fingers, let go of anything holding you back and tumble through your vision like a leaf in the wind.

It isn’t hard to find your own body and you look down on it, lying on the grass as if you were just dozing off in the morning sun.

You slip into it, your mind feeling lighter, but also not quite there.

.

You feel light-headed as you get up from the ground, dusting off your clothes. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders as you walk, fearing to throw you off balance if you tip to one side. But you can stand and you can walk and maybe if you focused on the things you need to do, everything else would slip into the background?

You focus on the different trees surrounding the garden, noticing the path leading away. Without having to walk there the all-seeing eye tells you exactly where you would end if you’d follow it. There is a shack on the left side of the garden, the door locked. The eye shows you the inside, a table and chairs stored away as well as a few wooden swords, two bows and arrows. You turn away and walk towards the house.

One of the chickens is asleep in the hen house, you can see it, but the others run around your feet as you walk up towards the back door, opening it.

You can see one of your old neighbors walking down the street, looking towards the windows of Heimdall’s home. You slip into the pantry and focus on everything there, hoping to find something you could go and get on the market..

Your neighbor walks up to your door and knocks three times, softly calling your name. You wait, breath held, hoping the woman will just leave you in peace for once. You can see her look around and try once again before she gives in and leaves.

Without the all-seeing eye, you might have opened that door. Or you might have walked out the door and into her waiting arms as she lingers for at least half an hour, hoping to catch you.

You pack a bag and leave through the garden, hop over a smaller part of the little creak and break through the trees a few streets away from your house.

Without asking to, your focus directs to Heimdall who is staring into the distance like he always does, but right now, his lips pull up into a smile.

He’s been watching you.

-


	13. Septfoil tea

You make yourself look relaxed as you walk, but your mind is racing.

Heimdall can see you, no matter where you go or what you do, as long as he is conscious.

Right now, you start to understand what Loki had meant when he had said that you could never have a secret from Heimdall.

Up until now, you’ve never really had a secret. You just had to start it off with a big one.

.

You make it to the market without losing yourself in your view of the worlds, but once you’ve made it there, you have to sit down for a moment to catch your breath.

There’s so much going on during the day and a fight down on Midgard takes over your focus for a moment. Then there’s a rebellion on Nilfheim and you have to forcefully remove yourself from it in favor of looking over the marketplace. It’s chaotic, but peacefully so.

No thieves, no fights, just farmers selling their products.

“Mariam,” you greet an elderly woman from Vanaheim that you’ve gotten to know through your mother’s regular visits, “What has your gardens brought up today?”

“Oh, Y/N!” She walks around her goods to pull you into a hug, “I’ve meant to congratulate you earlier to your marriage. Your mother told me about it last week when she bought Valerian and Lady’s Mantle for you.”

“Of course she did,” this time your smile is real. Mariam is a friend, “I’m looking for a few things. Do you happen to have green myrtle leaves?”

“Dried or fresh?”

“Dried, please. Give me a bunch of them, I’ve found a few new recipes.”

“Oh, I’ve meant to tell you,” Mariam says as she puts the leaves into a small paper bag, “The balm you made for my husband has worked so well. His hammer toe has healed almost completely. The healers wouldn’t believe me when we showed them the balm you’ve made.”

“It’s an old recipe I found in the library,” you explain and tell her the rest of the herbs you’d like to buy.

She starts to weigh and pack them while you try to remember where you’ve found the recipe she’s praising. You’ve specialized on the written word even before you knew that part of your magic lies in remembering the things you’ve read, but now, with your mind filled with all those sights, to remember has turned into a more difficult task.

You take a deep breath and light your magic like a torch to shine a light into the library in your head.

“It was from Nilfheim,” you tell her as you remember looking through the book, “To make it work this well one had to make the balm with sea water and mix everything during a storm.”

Mariam smiles at you and pulls something out from under the table, handing it over to you. It’s a small package bound in leather.

“Is this a book?” You ask excitedly and Mariam laughs softly.

“It is. It’s from my husband’s grandfather. He specified in herbal magic and has written down a lot of things people don’t like to remember nowadays. As much as we want to give it to you as a wedding gift, it’s a family heirloom. But we thought, with your memory, letting you read it would be as good as giving it to you.”

You laugh and hug her. “Thank you, it’s perfect.”

“Oh and this is a real gift,” she hands you a second paper bag, “It’s Septfoil Root. Make a tea from it and you will sleep soundly, but chew on it… well, history said women made their husbands chew it when they had lost interest in their wifes.”

Mariam winks at you and you feel heat creep up your neck.

“Well, thank you,” you mumble and bite your lip, unable to keep your focus from shifting towards Heimdall, who is smirking again.

.

By the time you’ve finished your errands, you’re tired enough for a nap, but you walk towards the Palace library anyway. You’ve just entered it when you feel your focus shift again. You barely manage to make it to one of the benches as you feel yourself losing control of your body.

The shift has come without you wanting it and you’re left confused as your mind tumbles and twirls above Asgard, trying to find your way around. And then you see them.

Brunhilde and Kriemhilde, two girls, just a few years older than you. You’ve grown up with them, but not by their side, because even though you had matured faster than most of your age group, you had been preoccupied with your studies and Heimdall, not sparing a thought to working your way into their group of friends.

“I didn’t think Y/N to be so clever,” Brunhilde speaks up and sends a smile towards the warrior passing them, “With a personality like hers it was clear she had to take the first guy asking her to be her wife if she ever wanted to get married.”

“But wasn’t she friends with prince Loki?” Kriemhild asks, fighting to keep Brunhilde’s pace.

Brunhilde snorts. “Oh please. Just because your presence is pleasing to the prince does not mean he’s going to marry you. I know that, I’ve been there before.”

“I, myself, was sure Thor would marry you,” Kriemhilde insists and Brunhilde waves her hand, stopping her.

“It doesn’t matter now, I found someone better… I must say, however, that I find it quite daring of Y/N to marry Heimdall of all people. He does not have any mentionable wealth and the power he has is overshadowed by the fact that he can see and hear everything she does. Would you want to be married to a man, older than you, that can give you nothing you desire but you’re unable to keep yourself a lover?”

Kriemhild mirrors Brunhilde’s gesture of shuddering in mock disgust.

You fight to stay calm, but they change topics again and you’re left behind, watching them go their ways.

You force yourself to return to your body and plant your feet on the ground of the library, fishing out the book you’ve been given by Mariam to give your mind something else to work on.

You wait for Heimdall to call you. Despite the fact that you fear what he might see inside your head, you can’t imagine him keeping quiet about this episode. Surely he would tell you about it, right?

He does not.

.

You return home at a reasonable time in the same way you’ve left. You’re simply not in the mindset to speak to other people right now and if that requires coming and going through the backdoor of your house, so be it.

There’s still quite some time left before Heimdall returns home and you set out the things you’ll need for a simple, but hearty meal.

While the food simmers gently, you decide to try out the hot spring in the garden that Heimdall has shown you in the morning.

With your headache gone, you feel how stiff your muscles have gotten from being so tense by day and unable to sleep properly by night.

You take a towel and a dress with you and step into the hot water, sighing at the comfort of it, leaning back in the small pool the creak has formed. You rest your head on a flat stone and close your eyes.

As the water moves around you, the realms do too.

One day of seeing everything has taught you more than you would have liked. Brunhilde and Kriemhilde weren’t the only ones talking about you. Sure, it hasn’t even been one week since the wedding, but that doesn’t make it easier.

Listening to grown man talk about your relationship as if you were some trophy Heimdall had managed to snag away from others, crude comments about your body and parts of your marriage you had assumed to be private…

And then the women who either pitied you or Heimdall or, even if they believed that it was love that had formed this relationship, they did not believe that this love could succeed.

There’s hardly anything more damaging than knowing that people don’t believe in you. Or your relationship.

You push away those thoughts and imagine these memories to be washed away with the hot water flowing towards the sea. You can feel your exhaustion again and you decide to give in to it, if only just for a minute or so.

.

You are awakened by a warm hand rubbing your left shoulder, the rough skin covering knuckles grazing your cheek.

You blink and groan and watch the world unfold inside your mind before you can even open your eyes, you in that pool in the creak and Heimdall crouched beside you, trying to rouse you.

“By Odin’s underwear!” You curse as you finally register where you are and you shoot up but regret it immediately.

A sharp pain shoots through your neck that had been stiff from sleeping in that position and cold floods over you, making you realize that you are, in fact, very very naked.

You drop back into the water with a shriek, crouching low enough so only your head stays above surface and glare at Heimdall who is now laughing so hard you almost fear he will drop into the water as well.

“That’s not funny!” You claim, but your voice is high and squeaky from the embarrassment, which makes everything worse.

“Yes, it is,” Heimdall insists, as his laughter dies down to a chuckle just as soft as his voice, “I would never have thought of you to use such swear words.”

You splash water at him in annoyance as he starts laughing again.

“Don’t make fun of me! And don’t tell King Odin!”

“I’d never!” He exclaims, “Can’t have my lovely little wife be imprisoned for blasphemy.”

You roll your eyes at that. “Very funny, Heimdall, very funny.”

He smirks back at you and moves to the side, pulling your towel out from behind his back. “Do you want to come out? I’ve taken the pot from the flame, it tastes amazing.”

“You already tried?” You ask in shock and he laughs again.

“Just one spoonful to see if it was done. I promise it wasn’t more. Now, will you come eat with me?”

He holds open the towel and you bite your lip in hesitation.

“I can close my eyes if you want me too,” he offers and you realize that he really has only laughed at you swearing and not at the fact that you’re still ashamed of being naked.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. “No, I will manage.” You step up again, but keep your eyes on his arms as he wraps you up in the towel and lifts you out of the pool with ease. Instead of rubbing you dry, he pulls you into his arms and drops a kiss on the crown of your head.

“I’ve missed you today,” he mumbles into your hair and you close your eyes as you ease yourself into the comfort of his hug.

“You could have let me come with you,” you mumble back and can feel his lips pull up into a lazy smile.

“Maybe I will when we have a new guardhouse.”

“Always so protective of me,” you tease and he keeps quiet at that, proving you right.

Your stomach growls before you can utter another word and he chuckles again and lets go of you so you can dry up.

The food is good, better than you had hoped for and the light mood from before continues to stay through the whole dinner, you teasing him, he teasing you.

The memory of all those words uttered about you today keeps pricking your mind, but you don’t want to destroy the moment, this mood of love and light-hearted teasing, so you push it back into the farthest corner of your mind and step into Heimdall’s way as he moves to wash up the dishes.

He looks down at you, silent, his eyes searching yours and you stretch out your right hand and slip your fingers under the low neckline of the undershirt of his armor, placing your hand right over his heart. You can feel each beat in your fingers, a strong and calming rhythm and you stretch as he leans down, your lips meeting in the middle.

His heartbeat stays in your ears for the rest of the evening, a steady rhythm that urges you on.


	14. the firts fight

When you wake up this night, you have no recollection of dreams whatsoever, but you can clearly see all of Asgard and the nine realms behind your closed eyelids and, more importantly, you can see your own body resting on that of Heimdall. No part of you is touching the mattress and while the thin blanket does not do much in terms of keeping you warm, his body heat has seeped through your skin and into your bones.

It is warm, comfy and you feel like you need to run. Not because of him being so close, but because of the energy running through your veins.

You slip off him as carefully as you can, but the moment you’re separated he groans and raises his head to look at you.

“What time is it?” He mumbles, his voice rough from sleep.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back, “I just woke up. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t answer and as you slip out of bed you really think he will go back to sleep.

He lies there, not moving at all and his eyes closed. Is he still awake?

It doesn’t matter, you can’t risk hinting at the fact that you’re able to see in this darkness. Not in the middle of the night, not when you feel like Thor’s lightning is running through your body.

You fish around the floor for the nightgown you had discarded earlier - even bumping into the cupboard and the edge of the open door for good measure - but when you’re finally getting close to where your nightgown lies, Heimdall slips out of bed.

He picks the nightgown up and presses it into your searching hands.

“Here,” he mutters softly and you smile and thank him quietly before you get up and pull the nightgown over your head.

As your face pops up from beneath the fabric, his thumb touches your chin and tips your head upwards so he can kiss you.

His kiss feels different this time, almost searchingly and you have to push him away, to put distance between the two of you, fearing for what he might find.

“Do you remember the root I got from Mariam today?” You ask, your head lowered, your hand on his biceps, unable to encompass it with your small hand. Your eyes rest on his chest, but you can feel the mood shifting when you ask. You look up to see him smirking and you take your hand back only to slap his arm lightly.

“Not for that reason, you idiot.”

His smirk grows in size. “Good. Because I would never need it.”

You roll your eyes at that, acting annoyed even though you feel flattered by his comment.

“Good to know. I have problems sleeping through the night, I’ll just go down and brew myself a cup of tea.”

“I’ll come with you.” He insists and walks towards the door. You stay where you are.

“Do I need protection in your own home now?”

“It’s yours as well,” he corrects you as if that is the point. You send him a glare and he sighs.

“I don’t like you wandering around in the dark when I’m awake anyway.”

“At least put some clothes on then,” you tell him off and slip through the door.

-

Despite the headache you’ve had to suffer through the past few nights, the time you had spent awake had been quiet and peaceful, the only time you were really on your own.

Now Heimdall is watching you.

You try not to be bothered by it and fill a pot with water, dropping a spoon full of the cut up root into it.

He’s standing too close to your liking as if he’s making sure you’re doing it right.

Stay calm, you tell yourself, but then he’s leaning around you to get to the things you need to make fire and you have to force yourself not to bristle.

“There are faster ways,” you tell him, your voice too sweet to be understood as calm and with a snap of your fingers you let the magic leap from your body and into the pot, making the water boil.

You force a smile and wait for Heimdall to say something but he keeps quiet and grabs the dishes from dinner and starts to wash them in the sink without another word.

You can’t explain why you’re feeling what you’re feeling.

If someone had told you three weeks ago that you would once stand in the kitchen of your home, cooking tea and doing the dishes with Heimdall in the middle of the night, you would have imagined yourself to be happy, cozy, at ease.

But here you are, a liar, angry and on the edge of something you can’t quite name.

“I assume it’s because it hasn’t even been a week,” you mumble to yourself but Heimdall turns to look at you, his eyes asking for an explanation.

“I don’t feel at home here,” you tell him, hiding the nagging feeling of annoyance and anger by keeping your voice soft, “yet, at least. And you’re not helping me get there when you’re doing everything for me.”

“I apologize,” he says, voice clear, and hands you a dishtowel to dry up.

You smile at him as you take it and step up beside him, an almost comfortable silence surrounding you.

But your mind cannot seem to rest.

“Do people talk about us?” You ask as the water has boiled for five minutes straight and you pull your magic out of the pot, leaving it to draw for a bit longer.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, his voice just as carefully calm as yours.

“I mean… I’m sure there are a lot of people who are happy for us, but the happy people don’t talk about the stuff that much, it seems,” you start to ramble, but you can’t stop yourself from it, “And I was wondering, well, my uncle surely isn’t the only one who’s got a rather clear opinion on our marriage. Surely you would hear them all, right?”

“Yes,” Heimdall answers simply after almost a minute of silence. He puts the dishes away and you watch his bare back as he moves. Not the movement of his muscles is interesting to you though, but the fact that he’s holding himself up as straight as possible. He’s not as good at lying as you had assumed.

You feel hollow.

“But you would tell me, right? What they say about us?” Your voice breaks a bit at the end and you hate yourself for it, for your lack of control.

He doesn’t look back at you, just stands there, facing the cupboard, his back to you.

For a second and a second only, fear flares up in you.

Heimdall sees and hears everything. He knows who you talk to and what about. He knows that you can’t possibly have heard something through your own ears and maybe, just maybe, you’ve given yourself away.

But as time ticks by, you realize that that’s not what this is all about and anger takes the place of fear. Your hands are shaking as you pour the tea into a cup and you almost drop the pot when you’re finished.

“I don’t mind you protecting me,” you tell him, voice tense, “But I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“It would upset you,” he claims, voice monotone and the pot collides with the floor. You’re not sure if you dropped it or smashed it out of anger. It does not matter.

What matters is that everything feels out of place.

Three weeks ago you had two friends in your life that you would have trusted with your life and now one was presumed a killer and dead and the other one was married to you but the marriage is built upon lies.

You don’t really notice Heimdall turning back to you. You don’t really notice anything, not even the words coming out of your mouth.

“If you keep that from me, what more do you keep from me?”

His hand touches your elbow and your eyes snap upwards.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him and take a step back, to create a distance you desperately need.

Heimdall drops his hand.

“Dearest, you know that I have to keep a lot of things from you. That is my job.”

“It is not your job to lie to me,” You snap and take a shaky breath.

Your chest hurts, your whole body hurts. You wouldn’t have imagined how much it would pain you to know that Heimdall, the man you love and trust, is not truthful to you.

If it feels like that you, now, how would he feel if he knew-

Your knees give away and you barely manage to get a hold of one of the chairs and fall down on it.

“Breathe,” Heimdall whispers in your ear and you take a breath and push it out again, trying not to think or to feel until the world can settle around you.

“Can I touch you?” Heimdall asks and you’re not sure if you want him to, but you nod anyway because your body feels like it’s disintegrating and maybe his touch will make you feel alive again.

A warm hand rubs circles on your back. You breathe in and out in the same rhythm, trying to grasp something real in this world to hold on.

“You do love me, right?” You ask, your voice as fragile as the first ice on the lakes of Asgard.

“Yes, I do,” Heimdall answers, his voice strong and warm and your cold hands over your face. There are no tears, but that doesn’t really surprise you. You were too far gone to cry.

“If it pains you so much,” Heimdall starts, “I can promise to tell you the things I’m allowed to tell you.”

“No, I understand,” you disagree, unable to look at him. You keep your eyes on the dark wood of the table instead. You can’t force him to tell you everything when you can’t tell him the truth yourself.

“If you say it is about the kingdom, I will understand. And if it is about us, but too ghastly to be repeated, I will understand too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and take another breath, “It’s late, I’m lacking sleep. I will try and drink septfoil in the evening too. The stress might have been too much.”

He doesn’t react to that for a moment.

As you are still unable to look at him, you open your inner eye to watch him.

The all-seeing eye sees too much to give your mind enough space for self-loathing, it pushes the feelings and the thoughts aside until there is nothing more but the lone feeling of your soul being as black as tar and as hideous too.

Heimdall moves to crouch next to you and look up at you. You see him through your own eyes and through your inner eye that looks down at him from the ceiling.

His eyes are warm, golden and full of understanding.

“Is stress really the only reason?” He asks and you clench your teeth on instinct.

This is the moment to tell him, your chance to make all this lies go away.

But, the small voice in your mind stops you, if you tell him, he will leave you. And then you will truly be alone. No Loki, no Heimdall and you will have no choice but to move back home and bear the mockery of all Asgard and your failed attempt to stay married. And it hasn’t even been a week yet.

You can’t lose Heimdall.

“I miss Loki,” the words slip past your lips before you have even thought them and the moment you hear them you realize how true they are. And as soon as they are out you can’t stop talking about it.

“I miss the Loki that I used to know. The one I thought he really was, a good friend, someone I could trust and turn to with my oh so boring studies. He taught me that my magic was not just the words that were written down, he challenged me and made me laugh and even when he couldn’t believe I had chosen you to be my husband, he never said I couldn’t make it.”

“He was a good friend to you,” Heimdall states and it sounds like it’s new to him, like he had never even thought about this before.

“Yes. My only one,” you confess, “The only one who thought me interesting and worth talking to. And as it turns out, he was mad. Maybe you have to be a madman to like me, who knows?”

“I’m not mad and I like you too,” Heimdall mumbles and offers you his hand to take.

You let your fingers slip between his and squeeze his hand, so big in comparison to yours.

“You have to like me,” you tell him and can’t do anything about the sadness seeping into your words, “You’re my husband.”


	15. making new friends

As it turns out, septfoil tea works far better than you thought it would.

By the time you wake up, Heimdall is already at the guard and the sun shines right through your bedroom window as you roll out of bed and crash to the floor.

As you’re sitting there, fighting the haziness in your mind and the all-seeing eye feeling like a map turned on its head, you feel the familiar pull of Heimdall’s call.

You accept it with a groan.

“Good morning,” Heimdall greets you, his voice soft.

“Is it still morning?” You ask back and crawl across the floor towards the cupboard to get yourself dressed.

“Late morning, to be exact. I tried to wake you but you wouldn’t budge. Let’s go easier on the septfoil next time.”

“Will do,” you grumble, “Anything else I need to know?”

You can literally feel him hesitate and you’re not sure if that comes from your all-seeing eye or from your intuition when it comes to him.

“Spill it out,” you order and pull your nightgown over your head as you find an outfit that fits your mood today.

“I assume you are going to visit the library today, am I right?”

“You are right.”

“Maybe you could spare half an hour of today and talk to some of the girls you went to school with?”

You freeze, one leg already inside your pants. “Why would I do that?”

“People change, Y/N. They might not be to you like Loki was, but they could be your friends.”

You close your eyes to gather yourself before you nod. “Fine, I will try and make some friends today.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard. If you chat up one person you’ve already done much.”

“I got it,” you tell him, clenching your teeth before a more sarcastic comment slips out, “I will see you in the evening.”

“You can come visit me if you want to,” Heimdall offers, his voice soft.

He’s trying so hard and it hurts you because he shouldn’t be the one feeling bad. You’re the one lying after all.

“Well, I managed to sleep in and have to take the time off to chat to someone, I’m not sure if I’ll make it to the Bifrost before you’re done with your guard, but I thank you for the offer.”

He laughs softly and ends the connection.

Whether it is the septfoil or something else, sleeping in or the prospect of having to try and make friends when you’d rather not, you feel irritated.

The fisherman taking his sweet time to get his cart out of your way, the children running past you and squealing so loud that you fear your ears will burst or the elderly women on the steps in front of the palace, chatting away - everything is grinding on your nerves until they are as thin as the hair of a pixie.

You’re hiding behind a pillar right at the edge of the colonnade, watching life taking place in front of the big palace entrance.

Surely there is another way in, one that might be closer to the library, but the thought of having to sit down and focus on word after word, written in old languages - it makes you turn around and leave.

In a mood like this you will have no success making friends and if you’re already in the city, you can use the time to your advantage and brush up your fighting skills.

Sif had shared at least one of your classes, you remember her being just as bad at dancing as you had been, but at least she had found joy in dancing with Thor at that time. Talking to Sif might not even be that bad after all.

You should have reconsidered that idea, you realize, as you step through an archway into the training area of the palace.

A few of the senior warriors see you first and they stop and stare at you, their murmuring infecting the others until everyone has turned to stare at you.

You want to run, but you’ve learned early on that escaping will get you nowhere.

Forcing yourself to look braver than you are, you walk on, through the warriors staring at you, towards Sif. If she’s going to look at you with the same mix of feelings you can’t quite place - not that they seem positive in any way - you will walk straight past her to the training dummies near the walls and train on your own.

But you will not flee.

To your relief, Sif speaks up first.

“What are you doing here?” She asks you, her voice as strong and clear as it always is.

“I have neglected my fighting lately. I thought some training would do me good.”

Sif furrows her brows.

“Is it because I’m married now?” You ask her, trying to get to the point, “I’m not pregnant, not that I would train so hard that it would become a risk.”

Sif snorts.

“A woman who has learned to fight should not let marriage keep her from practicing,” she tells you and you feel your heart rising in hope, but she rips it out and crushes it under her foot with the words that follow.

“You were friends with Loki. Close friends. If not for Heimdall pledging for your innocence, you would have had to appear in front of the committee of investigation.”

You gape at her, mouth slack.

“I didn’t… No one asked me… I did not know of Loki’s plans!”

Sif sneers at that.

“You are lucky your husband has enough influence on the king. If he believes you to be innocent, I will not seek out any form of punishment for you. But know this, little lady, if you betray us,” the second blade of her sword shoots out of its handle to emphasize her threat, “I will find a way to make you pay.”

You are frozen in shock, unable to run, not knowing what to say.

Not for the first time you want to be able to use magic to prove a point, but the magic you’re capable of using could never be useful in a situation like this.

You take a deep breath and ironically, a memory of Loki gives you the strength and the words you need to answer her.

“I have nothing to prove to you,” you tell her, your voice light to mask how shaken up you really are.

“And if no one else has the wish to come forward to address me,” you speak up loud enough so that the rest of the warriors can hear you, “I will use my right to train here like everyone else.’”

You walk past Sif to the training dummies, your hands clenched to fists to hide their shaking.

Heimdall tries to connect with your mind, but you let him in only long enough to tell him to leave you be.

“I will start to cry as soon as I hear your voice,” you tell him and cut the connection yourself. You don’t believe he will stop watching you, but he accepts that you can’t have him in your head right now.

The practice sword you pull from the holder almost slips out of your grip. You grasp it tighter, determined not to make a fool out of yourself, knowing that everyone is still watching you, even though they do it from the corner of their eyes. As if you wouldn’t notice that.

You practice basic steps, more concerned with the possibility of you falling or dropping the sword than a chance to show off. You’ve only picked sword fighting as a hobby anyway.

Right when you swing your sword at the dummy’s arm, a memory pops out of nowhere.

_“This spell is useless,” you tell Loki and hand him the book you’ve brought from the library. You’re sitting cross-legged on one of the many fields of Asgard, looking down at one of the smaller lakes. You should be somewhere else right now, not that you remember where exactly._

_Loki himself has stretched out in the soft grass and reads the page you’ve wanted to show him since yesterday._

_“That’s not useless,” he turns so he is on his stomach and nudges you with his elbow, “It increases the power of your arms so you could fight better. It would definitely help you with your sword fighting.”_

_You groan and drop into the grass, rolling around until you’re on your stomach as well. You poke your finger into the page, pointing at a few words he must have missed._

_“It only works if your opponent stands still while fighting. And it only works for, what, three hits?”_

_“Well, maybe you will have to fight a statue one day. Or a tree.”_

_You laugh at that, fighting to get the book back as he starts to look for more useful spells._

.

Back in the real time, you’re stepping back, your breathing rapid.

You remember the spell as clearly as if you’ve just read it. That doesn’t mean you want to use it.

What good will it do?

You’re just about to put the sword back when you see Thor nearing the patio above the training area. He hasn’t seen you yet, nor has anyone down here seen him, but if Sif acts this way around you, he will act hardly different.

The moment Thor steps towards the balustrade, you attack the dummy for the last time today.

You can feel the power surging through your arms and into the sword and without really wanting to you cut off both arms before you fling your wrist and the sword glides through the head of the dummy, only stopping when the handle hits what would be the nose on a real person.

For the second time today the world has turned silent around you.

“What?” You hiss as you face the warrior’s watching you in surprise. You pull the sword out of the dummy and push it back into the holder, grabbing your things to leave.

You’re almost out of the area when Thor reaches you. You try to pick up speed, hoping for a miracle to happen so you can outrun him, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back just in time to save you from a stray arrow.

You put your hand on your chest, trying to stop your heart from racing.

No one’s apologizing for the stray arrow.

“Where are you going?” Thor asks.

“Palace library,” you huff out, look both ways and start walking again.

“I will accompany you.”

“What for?” You snap back and he’s obviously taken aback by your reaction.

You’re still reeling from what has happened just seconds ago and you turn, deciding that in a situation like this, an attack is the best defense you’ll get.

“How long have you known me, Prince Thor?”

“Since we’ve been children,” he answers, surprised by your question.

“Have you ever felt like I was keeping the truth?”

“What? No, not really. What do you mean?”

“I will explain it to you,” your voice sounds tight, you press the words through your clenched teeth, “I have been friends with your brother since I’ve known him. I am sure that there are friendships out there who have been tighter, especially as he hasn’t told me a lot of things he had been thinking about. If that friendship makes me look guilty, fine. But I thought you would think me worthy enough to speak for myself.”

“I-”

“You what?” You feel tears pricking at your eyes but are unable to hold them back. It doesn’t matter. You’re already making a fool out of yourself anyway.

“You thought you were the only one screwed over by Loki? I am sorry, Prince Thor, but that is not the case. You had at least the chance to fight him, to try and get some sense into him, while I got nothing but the knowledge that I can never be sure of anything he has said or done to be true. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get back to my studies. At least the books don’t care about the friends I could have had.”

You turn and stomp away, wiping the tears from your face as you go.

Thor does not come after you.

You’re unable to stay in the Palace today, the wide spaces and the familiarity haunting you. You pick the books you want to read and leave to go back home.

“Do you want to come?” Heimdall asks as you cross the streets outside the Palace.

“Would you be mad if I didn’t?” You ask back. “My souls feels raw like skin scratched open. The solitude of our garden will do me good.”

“As you wish.”

.

You move everything you need to the garden. The books, something to eat, something to drink.

There’s lavender in your herb collection and you brew yourself some tea to calm your nerves, but then you’re unable to put the wooden casket away and take it outside with you.

The lavender makes you sleepy. You put your books aside, deciding that a nap can only do you good.

Following a thought you haven’t really thought to its end, you pull out some Valerian and put it on the plate the fruits had been on.

You set fire to it and watch the smoke disappear in the air, the smell of it itching in your throat.

You cuddle up beneath the burning herb, closing your eyes without really knowing what you will see.


	16. Loki

You’re standing in a prison cell. The only cells you’ve ever seen were that of Asgard, but these cells are not from your home realm.

Asgard keeps their prisoners in their place through a thin, yellowish, see-through barrier made from magic and something else.

This cell has steel bars and a blue force field melded into it.

Movement behind you makes you realize you’re not alone.

You whirl around only to shriek when you recognize that bundle of green and black.

“Loki!”

You grab his shoulder and try to pull him towards you, urging to know how he is. He does not react and you’re reminded how he wasn’t able to see you the last time either.

“Loki!” You whisper-yell, not wanting to draw the attention of the creatures you’ve met the last time you were in this realm. As he does not react to your voice nor your touch, you search for his face in the bundle, cupping it with both hands only to pour your magic into him.

You’ve never tried to build a connection like Heimdall does so often with you, but if you don’t try you will get nothing out of this.

Loki has put up a shield of his own magic, covering himself entirely. It’s the proof you need to know that this is real. He is real.

Loki is not dead.

.

Your magic slips through the cracks of the wall he’s built up and into his mind.

“Wake up,” you tell him softly and he jumps out of bed in a fluid motion, changing his appearance as he moves. You only get a glimpse of his pale skin and red-rimmed eyes before he masks it.

“Who is there?” He asks, words pressed through his teeth.

You use the seed of magic that you’ve planted in his mind to build up the connection.

“It’s me. Can you see me?”

“No. Is that you Y/N?”

“Yes.” You step forward, letting your magic run free in the hopes of him being able to see that.

Loki looks in your direction and squints.

“I can see your magic. What are you doing here?” He steps back in fear. “Is Heimdall near?”

“I’m alone,” you tell him just as you hear heavy footsteps nearing, “Shoot, I have to hide!”

“Under the bed! Hide your magic!” Loki tries to push you forward but as he can’t see you, his hands don’t come even close to touching you. You slip under the small bed he has in his cell, pulling your magic into yourself and pressing it down to hide it.

The footsteps stop in front of Loki’s cell.

“Prisoner!” A voice snarls, “There was noise!”

“That must have been me, I’m afraid,” Loki answers cooly, “I believe I talk in my sleep.”

The voice growls like an animal ready to attack and you shiver in fear.

“You think you can sass me? I’ll make you pay for that. Just wait for your next interrogation!”

Loki keeps silent at that and the guard walks away again.

You can see Loki’s left leg next to the bed and stretch out your hand to touch it. He pulls his leg away immediately. You force yourself to ignore it and slip out of your hideout.

Loki sits on his bed now, squinting into the room, looking for the signature of your magic.

“Where are you, Y/N?”

“Right next to you,” you tell him and put your hand on his arm. He pulls his arm back.

“What are you doing here? How come I cannot see you but you fear the guard can?”

“I have the all-seeing eye. You are not in the nine realms right now, but I’ve stumbled upon you when my mind was opened through Valerian.”

“Did you look for me?” He jokes, bitterness laced through his voice, “I don’t think so. Valerian is used in the wedding night. You saw me in your wedding night. You married that idiot so shortly after I died?”

“What question do you want me to answer?” You snap back, “Do I even have to answer you? You tried to kill Heimdall. You tried to kill your brother. You are a criminal, you lied to me and I am seen as a threat now just because I trusted you.”

“Maybe you are a threat,” Loki jokes and you move, grab his jacket and pull him forward.

“Do not talk to me like that!” You hiss and he smirks.

“I can see you now!” He whispers, “Just needed to get accustomed to your new magic. You used that book?”

“I did. Now see where it got me! What were you thinking, you fool? More importantly, where are we here exactly? I need to tell Heimdall and Odin so we can get you out of here.”

Lokis eyes darken. “You’re not going to do anything about this.”

“Are you mad? This is a prison! They are torturing you.”

“I have a plan. I’m already winning their trust.”

“And then what? You’re going to kill more people? What are you thinking? I don’t know you anymore!”

“I don’t know you either!” He snaps back, “All you do is cry and blame. I thought you were a fighter!”

Your fist hits his cheekbones. It can’t hurt that much but it helps you focus. He’s full on grinning now.

“That’s better. Why are you here anyway?”

“To help you. Get answers. Get you back, I don’t know,” you sigh, “I know I can’t trust you because all you’ve done lately is lie, but it’s not like I have any other friend I can turn to.”

“What about Heimdall? Your lover?” He spits out the last word and you laugh humorlessly.

“You advised me to have secrets. Now I’m having them and I’m drowning in them. I don’t know what to do. Just be honest with me for once, please! Tell me the truth!”

“You want the truth? So be it.” He presses his hand to your temple, flooding your mind with pictures. You want to scream, but no words come out.

.

You are Loki, listening to Thor’s speeches as he demands war and blood and violence, knowing he can’t wait to be a king, knowing he will bring nothing but war.

You find a way to get Jotuns inside the palace just so that Thor’s big day is interrupted. Just so that Asgard is spared of this king for another day.

You whisper words into Thor’s mind and follow him to Jotunheim to fight, sending a guard to Odin just so that he can save his beloved son, just so that the king can’t help but see how violent the prince has gotten.

But things go wrong.

A Frost Giant grabs your arm, Loki’s arm, and it doesn’t hurt like it should, but turn your skin blue instead. Realization hits you as hard as Thor’s hammer hits the Frost Giants that are still attacking the group.

Everything you’ve known to be true shatters into pieces. You’re life is a lie.

.

The Casket of the Frost Giants is right in front of you. You grab it, feel the power curse through you. Liquid ice in your veins, washing off an illusion you’ve never known you’ve worn. You see clearly what you are. You just don’t know why. Or who.

The King steps up behind you. You put the casket back, put your illusion back on, turn around and speak.

“The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?”

“No. In the aftermath of the battle I went into the temple and I found a baby. Small for a Giant’s offspring, abandoned, suffering, left to die. Laufey’s son.”

“Laufey’s son?” Your voice is shaking,

“Yes.”

“Why? You were knee-deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take me?” You want to know. You need to know.

“You were an innocent child.” This is not the face of your father. This is not the face of your king. This is the face of an old man, weary with age, burdened with the lies he’s told.

You will not take another lie from him.

“No. You took me for a purpose. What was it?… TELL ME!” You scream and it shakes him, forces him to answer but his voice has lost its power while you’ve gained it.

“I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day. Bring about an alliance, bring about permanent peace… through you.”

“What?”

“But those plans no longer matter.” Odin mumbles as if it’s just that. An innocent plan that has failed and a failure that brings no pain.

“So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me?”

“Why do you twist my words?” The King asks. He’s trying to regain the upper hand in this conversation. You won’t let him.

“You could have told me what I was from the beginning! Why didn’t you?”

“You’re my son… I wanted only to protect you from the truth…” His argument is weak, must be even in his own, old eyes.

“What, because I… I… I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?” There is fear. Pure fear. You’ve seen what Thor has done to the Jotuns. You’ve heard how he had claimed to slay all the monsters. Your brother will slay you. Is there nothing you can do?

Odin chokes out his response. He sounds troubled, not that you care. “No! No!” He claims, but it’s a lie. Every word he says is a lie.

“You know, it all makes sense now, why you favored Thor all these years, because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

You watch Odin collapse, sink down onto the stairs and you feel nothing, because nothing is better than the pain you’ve been through.

.

You’re gasping for air as the memory stops.

There are tears burning in your eyes as you look at Loki.

“Do you see now why I had to do what I did?” He asks.

“I see,” you answer, choking on a sob, “Oh, I see.”

Loki sighs and takes your hand into his, plays with each of the fingers until he comes to your wedding band.

He twirls it round and round, creating a strange fear in you that he might just yank it off and throw it away.

“You will leave me now,” he tells you, “Because here I can still do things. Here I can still change my fate. You will go home and change yours. You owe that to yourself and to me, do you understand me?”

“But how?” You ask, desperation tearing through your words, “How can I do that?”

“You have incredible power. You have access to every wise word and every spell that has ever been written down and you are not only able to remember it all, you are able to use it, try it, experiment. Use your power and become what you are destined to be. This is farewell.” He tells you

He pushes you backward and you fall, but you don’t hit the wall or his bed, but the soft green grass in your own backyard and as you blink away the tears and look up into the sun, the image of Loki fades from your eyes.

He’s gone.


	17. addiction

You don’t feel like a whole person when you wake up. As if your mind is still stuck on a foreign planet, captured in a cell with Loki.

But you move around the house anyway, put new sheets onto the bed and do the laundry, hang everything out into the sun to dry while you prepare dinner.

You absentmindedly note that you will have to start reading cookbooks soon if you want to be able to make more than three different meals and just as absentmindedly you realize that there will be a full moon tonight.

You put septfoil into a different pot and wait for the water to boil while you cut up vegetables.

.

This day has been exhausting, in more ways than one and the idea of just going to sleep now instead of having to talk about everything with Heimdall in the evening sounds enticing.

You already know exactly what’s going to happen anyway.

You don’t even want to try and find out what they’ve asked Heimdall about you. He’s not going to answer your questions.

You call for him to tell him so, but he cuts you off rather abruptly as the king approaches the Bifrost.

“I trust you to do the right thing, dearest,” he tells you, “We can talk tomorrow if you want to.”

You don’t want to talk at all but if this is the best you can get, you’ll take it.

You take a sip of the septfoil, cringing at the taste and watching Heimdall and the king converse.

You don’t want to listen to them, don’t want to listen to another word of a king, a father like that, so you focus on the tides instead and take another sip of tea as you look over the kitchen.

Right when you’re about to take another sip, your eyes fall onto a wooden casket you’ve almost forgotten about. You don’t have to walk over and open it to know what’s inside.

It’s the black book Loki has gotten you.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you pour the rest of your septfoil tea into the stew that’s simmering.

Tiredness is already washing over you, but you will fall asleep and wake up like you usually do, but this time, Heimdall will sleep tight through the night, leaving you to your own work.

Your heart is racing as you lower the heat to make sure the stew doesn’t burn, as you eat three spoonfuls to make sure he can’t taste the septfoil in it, as you get ready for bed.

This time, you’re doing it on purpose. This time you have a secret knowingly.

It’s exhilarating.

.

You’re dozing as Heimdall enters the room. You don’t move as he stumbles when he tries to get out of his clothes and you don’t react when he falls heavily onto the bed.

He’s asleep in seconds and for the first time since you’ve shared his bed, he snores. Loudly.

You wait for ten minutes before you slip out of bed, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek before you leave the room.

You feel bad about your tricks, but you don’t want to argue with him.

It is easier this way.

As you open the book, even the last doubt is forgotten. This is magic like you haven’t experienced before. Straight to the point, powerful, never missing it’s aim.

You get to work without another look back.

.

Without really meaning to, you fall into a routine.

You wake up almost every night, but you don’t dare to leave his side just as often.

At first, you’re satisfied with sneaking off once or twice a week. You sleep with him just as often, because it makes you feel like you’re evening up. For every time you get to do something only for yourself, you allow him that too. Not that he’s aware of it anyway, but it helps to ease your mind.

You don’t have to sneak septfoil into his food often.

Most of the time all you have to do is ask him to share a cup of tea with you, because it tastes awful and you need some motivation.

It makes him happy when he’s able to help and you’re happier when he’s happy.

.

You’ve avoided talking about the accusations. You don’t want fights, especially as you wouldn’t be able to speak to the King without letting on what you know.

You’ve started to despise the man with a passion you’ve never known you had.

Instead, you train in your backyard, on your own during the day and under Heimdall’s supervision during the night. He doesn’t mind. he never says it out loud but you suppose he thinks you’re safe as long as you don’t pass by Sif or others like her in your daily life.

Heimdall is a far better trainer anyway. He pushes you until you’re tired enough to sleep through the night without the help of septfoil.

You keep the amount of those training sessions low as soon as you’ve learned that your magic starts to act up when you’re not able to use the black book at least once a week. Or maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.

.

One month passes and you have to ask for more septfoil.

“I have trouble sleeping,” you tell Mariam and the look she gives you is so full of concern that you vow to plant septfoil in your own garden to avoid that concern from now on.

Your herb garden grows. At least half of the plants have the ability to kill if used incorrectly - or correctly - but you need them for what you’ve learned.

There’s a tincture that makes each of your arrows find their way if you dip the arrowhead into it, for example.

There’s also a fragile yellow flower that ensures peace between you and your parents. Pluck the flower heads, put them into a small bottle filled with oil and let it stay in the dark for three days. Three drops of that and the stew you make tastes like the finest meals from the King’s own cook.

It helps to get your mother off your back. You don’t have the time nor the peace of mind to let her teach you cooking when you’d rather read another book.

.

You wander off to other sections of the library, aiming to find more books like the one you’ve been given. You read faster, you read more, dive into the old books of ancient magic. You learn about secrets that are so old that even those who could have cared for them are already long dead.

Two practice nights a week are suddenly no longer enough and you’re not able to even it out with Heimdall anymore. You feel a hint of guilt, but you bury it under your eagerness to learn more, to do more, to change your fate.

.

One more time you try and reach out to Loki. You fail.

You know it’s not the Valerian that has stopped working or your all-seeing eye that has failed. You know he’s not dead. You would feel it if he died.

He stays hidden and you respect that.

Everyone’s fighting on their own now. You just hope he won’t do anything he will regret later.

.

More than three months into your marriage you’re up to four practice nights a week. You have a small supply of sage leaves in your nightstand that you chew before you go to sleep in order to be able to wake up later even if you’ve drunken septfoil before or trained or did anything else that had been exhausting.

More than three months into your marriage you stumble upon a spell to stop the bleeding of a woman and you freeze as the realization hits you.

You’ve been sleeping with Heimdall for more than three months. You’ve never once thought about using the herbs that are meant for protection. You’ve never once bleed in this three months.

You place your hand on your lower abdomen, trying to look through the skin and into the uterus. It’s not possible, not even with the all-seeing eye.

Could it be?

Is there even another possible explanation for this?

You breathe in and breathe out. You don’t want to think of another possible explanation.

Are you happy about this? You’re not sure.

Everyone else will be happy, at least the right people will.

But pregnancy, a baby… you’re not sure where that will leave you.

Will you be able to keep up your studies? Probably not.

You will have to decide on a field to work in instead. Maybe as a healer, or a teacher.

You wouldn’t be able to keep up practicing the magic you’ve found in the books. It would be too dangerous for an unborn child to be under the influence of so much magic.

You bury your face in your hands with a low groan as you realize that you’ve been practicing magic for the last three months without ever thinking about a possible unborn child that could suffer from it.

You will have to tell Heimdall. Heimdall will tell King Odin and everyone will now.

By Helheim, you might have to endure the king congratulating you. You’re not sure if you can do that without spitting in his face.

No, you tell yourself, you can be civil, even around a man like him. You will not stoop to his level.

But first, you’ll have to go and see a healer about this. To make sure that your magic hasn’t damaged the child yet.

.

You put the books away and slip back into bed, curling in next to Heimdall.

He sleeps better when you’re touching him, but you feel guiltier the more you touch him at night. The innocent warmth of his skin keeps you awake.

Winter is nearing and your excuse of being to warm in bed will not make sense much longer. You’d better get started on getting used to it.

With a soft sigh, you push one of your legs between his and put your head on his chest, knowing you will not get much sleep this night anyway with your thoughts going wild.

His hands come up on reflex, holding you close in case you’d slip off him, but he doesn’t wake. He’s taken septfoil this evening.


	18. Meet thy healers

Also, the healer Eira is taken from [@star-trekkin-across-theuniverse](https://tmblr.co/mUQ8uRajg_cCooNltZ66TUg) great fic [“Fallen Valkyrie”](https://star-trekkin-across-theuniverse.tumblr.com/post/163915654139/fallen-valkyrie) Check it out, it’s Thor and Loki and greatness! (you can also read it here on ao3)

“I’ll go and see a healer today,” you tell Heimdall in the morning as you eat breakfast. He looks up in surprise.

“It’s a woman thing,” you tell him with a well-faked sigh, “Nothing out of the ordinary, if you ask me. I’d appreciate it if you would look away during that time.”

He smiles softly and takes your hand to squeeze it. You fight your urge to pull it back and reciprocate his smile.

“I will, dearest. You will tell me if anything out of the ordinary will come up?”

“Of course,” you tell him

Only when he’s left you realize how easy lying has become. You don’t even think about it anymore.

-

“Y/N? Hi, I’m Eira,” the healer offers you her hand as a greeting and beckons you to move to the soul forge. You twirl the handmade bracelet around your wrist to activate the spell that will hide you from Heimdall’s eyes.

You trust him, you tell yourself, but you feel better with the extra layer of magic hiding your secrets from him and the world.

You had to wait until late in the afternoon for your appointment with a healer. There’s been hardly a day where you’ve had to fight more to be able to focus on your reading.

“Just lie down for a bit and we will see what is going on. What are your symptoms? Anything I should be looking out for?”

“I…” You stop short and try anew. “I haven’t bled in the past months.”

“I understand,” Eira smiles at you, “We will take a look at that then.”

You lie down on the soul forge and angle your head around so you can see what she sees.

Despite the fact that you’re not a trained healer you hope to be able to at least notice a difference, but you have no clue what the golden lights could tell you.

You look at Eira’s face instead, hoping that her mimic will give something away. And it does.

Her smile slips from her lips, slowly but surely.

“I’m not sure what that means,” she mumbles to herself, looking you over again and again.

“What…” your voice breaks, “Did you find something?”

She sighs and drops her hands, taking a step back. You slip of the soul forge quickly, feet planted to the ground but leaning against the apparatus for good measure.

“What did you see?”

She takes a breath and tries to smile, but it comes out looking more like a sorry excuse.

“I’m afraid that… you are not pregnant.”

You wait for her to add more, wait for her to explain.

“There is no sign of a growing fetus, so I looked for a reason on why you haven’t bled in the last months and… did you happen to be in a fight with a master of magic?”

“Why?” Your voice sounds hoarse but you fight to keep eye contact. You want to run but dig your heels into the ground. You need answers first.

“I have never seen such a thing before. There is magic cursing through parts where it shouldn’t be. I would have to look closer, get someone else to examine you, but as far as I can see, you’re infertile, at least for the time being.”

“For the time being?”

“I do not want to give you a false sense of hope, but magic like that could run out and fade, or the spell could be broken. If you’d let me look at it again, I-”

“It’s all good,” you cut her off and push yourself away from the soul forge, “Thank you for taking a look at it.”

“But-”

You smile at her, try to make it as convincing as you can. It feels like a grimace and it probably looks like it.

“I said it’s all good,” you repeat, clenching your fist as you try to resist an urge you hadn’t known you could feel.

You know at least three spells that could solve this situation, but you’ve never gone as far as bewitching another person before.

It feels like another large step on a downward spiral.

“I am afraid it’s not that easy, Y/N,” Eira continues softly as if she’s afraid of you lashing out.

Good, she should be, you think and dig your fingernails into the heels of your hands.

“What do you mean?” You ask, your voice equally soft.

“Magic like this does not happen out of nowhere, we have to look deeper. I’m afraid I’ll have to call in some experts on this matter and…”

You close your eyes, take a deep breath and drone out her words so that you can focus on your magic instead. You concentrate it in your eyes and larynx and when you open your mouth to speak, you open your eyes as well, hitting her with a twice as strong dose of magic as you had used on the chickens last week.

“This won’t be necessary,” you tell her, calm but firm.

Eira looks directly into your eyes, lost in their magic. If you wouldn’t have to focus so hard, you would have laughed at how absurdly easy this was.

“It’s all good, right?” You ask her and she nods dumbly.

“Say it after me, please. It’s all good.”

“It’s all good,” she repeats with an emotionless voice.

“Good. Now you’ll write down that my exam was uneventful. I’ll leave. When you hear the door close behind me, you will remember nothing more but our greeting and the fact that this exam was uneventful. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Eira mumbles and walks over to her desk to write down her notes. You step back and walk out of the room, facing her, fearing that she might somehow break the spell.

But nothing happens and the door closes behind you with a quiet click.

You take another deep breath and shudder involuntarily at what you’ve just done.

.

You’re almost out of the palace when you run into Kriemhilde and Brunhilde or rather hear their voices coming closer. You hide behind a pillar and, as your hiding place is fairly obvious, use your magic again to disguise you.

They walk straight past you, discussing something in their usual passionate way. As you understand what they are talking about, you wish you had not shied away. It would have been interesting to see their reaction if you had walked right into one of their usual conversations about your married life.

“Do you think Y/N is already pregnant by now?” Kriemhilde asks, her voice a tad bit squeaky, like that of a mouse.

Brunhilde laughs. “Y/N? Pregnant? She wishes to be, I believe! As a mother, she would be taken seriously. But with an old man like Heimdall, it must be difficult. She could take herself a lover, however, and tell her husband that it was from him.”

You can feel your blood freeze from a multitude of feelings and none of them positive. Before you can stop yourself you let your magic lash out at them with a wave of your hand. You only realize which spell you have used when the two girls look at each other with wide eyes, mouth open in shock but no sound coming out. You’ve muted them, taken away their ability to speak for the sake of this conversation to end.

You remember having read about this spell that day on the hill after your uncle’s horrible speech.

Knowledge is power indeed, you think and take the spell back with another wave of your hand, watching the two run away, to the healers without doubt, but there’s no way they could know or prove that it had been you.

Not that it would matter. You have greater matters to tend to.

.

You wake up in the middle of the night, Heimdall snoring loudly beneath you. You will miss his snoring.

You take a shuddering breath, trying to remember how you got home, how you made it through cooking and sitting through dinner.

“How was your day?” Heimdall had looked at you, a mix of concern and sympathy in his glowing eyes and you had shrugged.

“It was okay, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Oh, what a lie.

You remember him talking about work, as you had washed the dishes, fighting against the initial effect of the septfoil you had put into the stew, nodding, and mumbling whenever he had looked into your direction.

You might have fallen asleep right there or made it as far as the bedroom, but who cares about it now?

You sit up in bed and lean over to where Heimdall lies and sleeps.

“You’re going to leave me,” you tell him, your voice a mere whisper, “I will have to tell you eventually and you will leave me. Maybe not for me being unable to bear your child, but for the lies and the deception and everything else. You will leave me and I will be alone.”

You think of the shame that waits for you, but the thought of losing Heimdall hurts more. You stretch out your hand and touch his face, hoping for a way out of this.

You’ve already wrecked your brain.

No matter how strong you’ve become, you do not have the ability to break the spell that’s keeping you from bearing a child. It’s the cost that comes with the all-seeing eye and your only hope is that its power will run out one day.

“How do I change this fate?” You ask Heimdall, but he only keeps snoring, not aware of your inner turmoil.

“Right,” you whisper, “You don’t even know what’s going on anyway.”

You slip out of bed instead, walk out of the bedroom without another look back and aim for the cupboard containing the most powerful books about magic you currently know and you go through them again, hoping for a solution.

What you really need is a friend.

Someone to tell your problem, someone to ask for advice.

Someone who isn’t going to run to the council and rat you out.

You take a deep breath.

Taking the book was not illegal. Loki gave it to you.

“But I have no clue where he got it from,” you remind yourself and frown. It could be illegal after all.

As far as you know there is no regulation on performing spells of high risk and great power as the all-seeing eye spell had been. Well, as long as the spell does not hurt anyone, at least. And the only person it had hurt had been yourself.

Lying to your husband was not a crime either, but that did not make it something you could be proud of.

But bewitching a healer and two more or less innocent women, yes, that was considered a crime.

.

You heave a sigh and bury your face in your hands.

“Mother, I need your advice,” you say the words out loud, tasting their ridiculous, “I got so angry over Uncle’s speech that I used some risky magic to make me as powerful as Heimdall, lied to everyone around and made myself infertile and now I don’t know how to deal with that. What do I do?”

You try to imagine her reaction to these words but fail. There is simply no one you could tell this to.

Well, not no one. But Loki is still unattainable.

What would he do, you wonder and take the black book from the staple and let your magic curse through it.

“Tell me,” you demand and open the book.

It shows you a multitude of spells as if it’s trying to tell you that it has no clue either.

But then you reach the last page, and you halt and read the words a second time.

Your heart flutters uncomfortably in your chest and you suddenly find it hard to swallow.

This spell does not mess around. And if you’re found out it wouldn’t just mean divorce, but jail.

Your fingers shake as you let them touch the letters on the page as if to test the strength of it all.

“With this you plant an emotion in the heart and a thought in the mind. A longing so strong, no lies nor deception can break it, a loyalty that never wavers. A love that is binding till the depth of the one who has created it.”

You breathe out slowly and look towards the wall that separates you and Heimdall. Deciding, that, yes, this is the only thing that is left for you to do.

This will truly change your fate, once and for all.


	19. to love or lie

You need five different herbs, three of them fresh. Two must be cut and boiled, and the rest of them must be stirred into the finished herbal extract as soon as it has cooled down.

You get to work swiftly, a calm sense of focus overtaking your mind.

With all the herbs in it, it’s already a strong potion, capable of making one feel attraction or a sense of loyalty. But for it to be as powerful as you need two more ingredients. One of your tears and a wisp of his hair.

Heimdall moves when the small knife touches his skin and the cold steel cuts into the soft skin of his right ear.

He does not wake, but he bleeds and you press your hand against it, his blood staining your fingers and the sleeve of your nightgown red.

Your heart is hammering against your ribcage. You need a few slow breaths to calm yourself down. When your fingers have stopped shaking, you lift his head into your lap and cradle him close.

Not for the first time you’re reminded of how astonishing it is that Heimdall has fallen for you on his own, that this man of strong will and great wisdom is yours.

Your lips quiver but you move quickly before doubt can overtake your mind again, cutting just enough off his hair.

The dried blood on your hands hurts your eyes when you step back into the kitchen. You wash them and cut off the sleeves of your nightgown as you’re growing impatient.

If you’re not doing it now, you’ll never make it this far again. You’re sure of it.

.

Everything is prepared, all you need is one single tear of your own.

You stare into the bowl in front of you that has turned into the amber color of Heimdall’s eyes.

You think of losing Heimdall. Of him walking away from you when he learns the truth.

But despite feeling hollow and broken inside, no tear pricks your eye.

You think of all the sad things you can imagine, yes, you even draw your knife and cut a straight line into the palm of your left hand, but you won’t shed a tear.

And then, you think of tomorrow.

You think of Heimdall waking up and looking at you, unable to feel anything else but love you because he has been bewitched.

You see yourself through his own eyes, see all the small and the big flaws and how he will love you, not because he has decided to do so, not because he wants to love you, but because he has too.

A single tear drops into the potion in front of you, turning its amber color into the clear blue of the summer sky.

The potion is done. Your fate is ready to be changed. There’s only one step left.

And there is so much doubt in your head, so much fear, so much sadness that you grab the bowl and throw it through the room.

It hits the wooden window sill, and drops to the floor, spraying potion everywhere. When it hits the stone floor, it shatters into pieces. The potion seeps into the floor with a soft, hissing sound as you sit there, breathing heavily, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

What have you turned into?

You jump up and run towards the mess on the floor, clean it up with shaky hands. You cut your fingers on the shards you pick up. You cut your bare feet when you walk on the small ones you can barely see in the dim light. You don’t care.

You grab the book, smearing your blood all over it and throw it back into the cupboard you’ve hidden it in before. You never want to see it again.

As you stand there, in the dimly light kitchen, you realize that there is only one thing you can do to try and make this right again.

.

Heimdall doesn’t wake when you jump onto the bed, he doesn’t even notice when you grab his shoulders and shake him.

Fear has taken your heart into icy cold hands, squeezing it until you fear it will succumb to the pressure.

What if you’ve put too much septfoil into his food? What if he never wakes up and it’s your fault?

Breathe, you tell yourself, and you huff out little pants, jumping out of the bed again when you remember the sage leaves in your nightstand. You chew two of them, keeping the juice inside your mouth and press your lips to his to force the juice into his mouth.

He swallows out of reflex and rouses, slowly but surely. He blinks, one, two, three times and rubs his eyes, before he looks at you.

“Y/N? What is going on?”

Your first sob sounds more like a scream and Heimdall sits up immediately, taking you into his arms. You struggle to get free, self-hatred making you feel like the loving warmth of his hug will burn you. But he’s stronger than you and holds you close as you’re unable to speak, fighting the tears and the gut-wrenching sobs that break out of you.

Heimdall doesn’t mumble useless words into your ear, does not tell you that everything will be okay again. He rubs your back until the sobbing eases down to a hiccup and lets you smear your runny nose into his shoulder.

“Now tell me,” he says simply and you do.

“Loki gave me a book,” you start, wiping your tearstained face with your hands.

Heimdall takes your hands in his right after that and looks at the cuts that are still bleeding.

“Those are nothing,” you whisper with a thick voice, “I have to tell you what happened.”

“I’m listening,” Heimdall says softly and covers your left hand with his own, “Go on.”

You tell him about the book. How it seems to have a mind of its own and how that isn’t all that bad if used correctly.

You tell him of the spells you’ve read and what your uncle had said when you had walked in.

Heimdall frowns at that and you stutter for a second, but then he releases your left hand and you stop speaking altogether to look at your palm in silent shock.

“Did you-”

“I’m not a healer,” Heimdall explains softly, “But my mother was. I only know the basics, I’m afraid, but it will do for the superficial cuts.”

You swallow dryly and watch him heal your right hand too before he moves to your feet.

“You’re not finished talking, are you?” Heimdall asks softly and you swallow again.

“Can you promise that you won’t hate me when I tell you?” You ask, your voice brittle.

He smiles. “I promise.”

You speak in a rush.

You let the story burst out of you, from the all-seeing eye to the nights spent studying magic. You keep your eyes on your knees as you speak, unable to look at him.

It’s getting a bit easier in the middle, as the spells have nothing to do with him, but then your narrative reaches this very day and you have to press the words out through your teeth, have to claw your hands into your knees to find the strength to speak.

The facts are simple, but the meaning of them isn’t.

You’re not pregnant and you might never be. And it’s your fault.

You’ve bewitched Eira, Kriemhilde, and Brunhilde and you’ve been very close to bewitch him too, just to cover up your tracks.

Eventually, your story ends.

You’ve drawn your limbs to your body, sit there like a human knot, all tied up tightly.

“Can I hug you?” Heimdall asks and your head snaps up so fast that pain shoots down your spine.

“Why?” You croak.

“I would like to search you,” he says, “I could do it without touching you, but I wouldn’t see everything. And you are exceptionally hard to read.”

“Why?” You ask, licking your lips before you go deeper, “Why am I hard to read?”

“Love makes blind. Or in my case, shortsighted,” Heimdall explains easily and opens his arms with a questioning look.

You nod. You’ve said all, there’s no secret left in you that you could feel afraid of. If he needs to search you than so be it.

He cradles you in his arms and lifts you on his lap.

His mind enters yours, but you don’t hear him speak. You close your eyes and concentrate on a sea in Midgard, focus on the endless clear blue so that you don’t have to see what he sees.

Eventually, a memory rises to the surface of the sea in your mind and when it bursts through the surface, it consumes your mind until you’re left in the middle of it, unable to leave it.

.

It’s your wedding. You’re seated at the top table right next to Heimdall.

His warm hand takes just below the table and squeezes it softly.

You look up to Heimdall smiling at you.

“I am at your side,” he tells you softly, “Always. I promise.”

You almost break out in tears at that, but you squeeze his hand back instead as you are unable to answer.

.

Heimdall pulls you out of the memory into the darkness of your room.

“I am sorry,” he tells you, as he still cradles you to his chest, “I wanted you to be able to tell me everything and here you were, pressured into one lie after the other because you were afraid of how I would react.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” you mumble into his skin.

“We could agree on us both being sorry,” he states softly and you can feel the tears coming back again.

“If I’d tell you to sleep, would you try?” Heimdall asks and you nod shakily.

“We will take a closer look at this tomorrow. I will take the day off. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sniff.

How did you deserve this?


	20. where they learn to communicate

You wake up to a cold room and Heimdall’s warmth seeping into you as he sleeps wrapped around you. For a moment everything feels cozy and almost right until your mind catches up with the present and you stiffen involuntarily.

You move your head a bit and see the thin red line where your knife has cut Heimdall’s ear the night before. You pull your arm free and rest your fingers above the cut, thinking about how Heimdall had healed your own cuts, how it had felt.

You only know how to make your magic into a healing balm and watch it drop from your fingers in thick, lilac droplets, coating his skin in a thin layer.

His arms tighten around you and you pull your hand to you as you watch his shoulders roll back.

He blinks once, twice and then locks his eyes with yours.

“Did you manage to sleep?”

“Yes,” you whisper and he presses his face into your hair and inhales deeply before he lets go of you.

.

You start the morning quietly, observing Heimdall’s behavior from the corner of your eye. He takes his time, as he gets up and dresses, just like he always does, leaving you questioning every movement of his hands, wondering if he’s doing things slower or if you’re just imagining it.

How big is the distance between your bodies? Is it more or less than the other days?

He slips past you as he moves towards the bathroom, his shoulder brushing yours and you hold your breath.

He steps back, moving backward until his shoulder is pressing into yours, stopping in this movement only to let his fingers slip into yours.

You take a deep breath and squeeze his fingers once as a sign.

You might not be okay yet, but you’re getting there.

.

You cut up some fruits for breakfast and brew tea while Heimdall is in the bathroom, surprised when he seems almost disappointed to see that the breakfast he usually prepares for you is already done.

“I thought I would do something for you, for once,” you try to explain.

“I like doing it,” he retorts, “It’s not like there’s a lot I can do around here for you.”

You stop in your motion, empty tea cup in your hand and stare at him.

“What?”

He doesn’t shrug, but the look he gives you could almost be interpreted as that gesture.

“You cook,” he says, “You clean. You study hard every day, do the laundry, make sure that the chickens are fed. I have nothing to do but sit down and eat when I come home, after a day that I have spent standing around watching the worlds, while you go and get our groceries.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Are you a good cook?”

“I believe so,” he tells you, grabs the pot with tea and pours it into the cup you’re holding, “But I really like what you make for me.”

“You should teach me. I’ve been spending the last months searching for recipes because I feel like all I do is make fifty different versions of one and the same stew.”

He laughs softly at that. “I like your stew.”

You stare at him in wonder and take a sip of your tea to cover up your loss of words, only to burn your tongue.

“Careful,” Heimdall warns you a bit too late, “It’s hot.”

“Any more revelations?” You ask him instead of yielding to the urge of rolling your eyes at him, “Because I don’t know how much I can take of them.”

“It’s called being honest, dearest.”

“No, it’s called saying what’s on your mind instead of holding it back,” you tell him in exasperation, “How am I supposed to know that you feel left out when I don’t let you cook? Everyone’s been telling me that it’s my job and that I better do it in the best way possible and now you’re telling me that there has never been the need to stress myself out over this?”

“I’m sorry,” Heimdall starts but you interrupt him.

“You should be!” You exclaim, tears springing to your eyes. You take a step back, choking on fresh tears, frightened by how messed up your emotions suddenly are, “And now I feel guilty,” you tell him, your voice as exhausted as you are, “Because who am I to tell you a thing about honesty?”

“Sit,” Heimdall says softly and guides you to your chair, “You have every right to speak about honesty. You have been incredibly honest tonight and that is something that should be honored. It takes courage to try and clear one’s mistakes after they’ve been done.”

“I’m so awful at this whole relationship thing,” you whisper and Heimdall lets out a breathy laugh.

“I’m not much better either. This is my first try at it and so far I’ve turned out to be a very confusing husband.”

You laugh as well. “How are my parents doing it?” You ask, surprised when Heimdall actually answers.

“Communication.”

.

You have a quiet breakfast, both of you taking your time to think.

“I’d like to see that book.” Heimdall breaks the silence first.

You nod and get up from the table to pull it out of its hiding place. As you hand it to him, you see your own dried blood on the cover from the cuts in your hands.

To your surprise, Heimdall does not open it. He looks at it, puts his palm on the front cover for a second and nods. “I’ll have to show this to the King, but I will not mention anything that might get you into trouble.”

“You would lie to the king for me?”

“I would withhold information if that information could risk your safety, yes.”

“Why?” You ask and he smiles wryly.

“The long version is, that I have withheld information daily. There is too much going on in the nine realms and wisdom is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands.”

“And the short version?”

“You are my wife,” Heimdall explains with a sincerity he seldom uses when he talks, “I care for your wellbeing.”

“I care for yours too,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. Heimdall smiles.

“There are some rules I want to establish in this home. And some topics we need to talk about.”

“Rules first,” you tell him with a sigh.

“As there seems to be nothing hidden from your eyes anymore, I see no sense in keeping secrets. Or withholding information. I hereby promise that I will tell you everything that might be of importance to you and I ask you to do the same.”

“That sounds manageable,” you agree.

“You have noted that you have felt the need to share my bed in order to even things out. This is not how it works.” His voice is strained as he talks on, his words sound just as stiff as your shoulders suddenly feel.

“I will not touch you unless we both wish for it. I will not allow ulterior motives behind something as precious as love is.”

His breathing has picked up, you notice, just as yours did.

You nod, unable to speak.

“Those are two rules I feel are important. I have something more, that is not a rule, but a mere wish.” There is an emotion in his eyes you cannot name, you have never seen it there before. It is intense either way.

“Speak,” you croak out.

“If sharing my bed is not what you wish for, a change can be arranged. But if it lies within your possibilities, I’d wish for you not to share your bed with anyone else but me.”

You’re finally able to place the emotion in his eyes. It’s vulnerability.

“I’d wish for you to do the same,” you answer, “There could never be anyone for me but you.”

He raises his hand as if to touch you, but pulls it back as he seems to remember the rule he has just set up before.

“Please touch me,” you whisper and he steps forward immediately, grabbing you and pulling you into his arms with gentle force.

You do not speak, just stand there, lost in each other’s embrace.

.

You walk out into the garden next, as if hoping that fresh air and sunlight might scare away the demons that are haunting you.

You place a thick woolen blanket on the ground before you sit on it, shielding your clothes from the cold ground. The sun is still warm, but the end of autumn is fast approaching.

Heimdall takes a seat next to you, close enough to touch you, but far enough to leave you enough room for your thoughts.

You’re tired. Physically, from the lack of sleep, but even more emotionally.

“Do you want to rest?” Heimdall asks and you sigh.

“Maybe later. Let us talk a bit first.”

“You will need to visit Lady Eira again,” Heimdall begins and you heave a sigh.

“I know. It’s going to be a mess,” you close your eyes for a moment before you look back at him, “And I don’t know if she can do anything about my infertility.”

“It was a violent time when I was born,” Heimdall says and you furrow your brows in confusion at this change of topics, but he keeps talking, “Hela-” He stops himself there and shakes his head, “The worlds were at war. My mother had a sister. Aunt Moira was a warrior, she fought great battles, but she wasn’t invincible. She was gravely hurt in one battle, the opportunity to carry a child taken from her. Her husband and she were sad that they could have not a child of their blood, but there were many children that had no parents and they took them in. War has taken many of them, but I have at least five cousins in Asgard alone that call Aunt Moira and Uncle Alex their parents.”

“Are you saying we could adopt?”

“We could,” Heimdall agrees easily, “Not that we have any pressure to do so. The peace might be unstable now, but we are seeing calmer times than any of my ancestors did. We have time to enjoy ourselves, time to wait for opportunities. You can take up a profession you like instead of staying at home and taking care of the chickens.”

You laugh breathlessly. “How can you be so calm about things?”

“It must be my upcoming,” Heimdall offers with a smile, “My mother had great influence on me. She would have liked you. You would have liked her for sure.”

“What happened to her?” You ask.

“She died,” Heimdall states, his voice calm, but softer than usual, telling you enough of the heartbreak her death must have caused.

“How old were you?” You ask, even though you’d like to know the cause of her death. But you don’t want to pressure him into talking about things that hurt. He’s never pressured you either.

“A bit younger than you are now.”

You open your mouth to say something but are cut short by a yawn. You cringe, embarrassed on how tactless that was.

Heimdall just laughs.

“You should lay down and take a nap.”

“Will you leave and get the book to Odin?” You ask and he frowns.

“Of course not. I took the day off to be with you. I can do that tomorrow.”

“Oh. Will you… lie next to me then? We could take a nap together.”

“I doubt that I will be able to sleep, but I will sit here and guard you if that is okay with you.”

You smile and curl into a ball next to his knee.

The moment you close your eyes, you drift off to sleep.

-


	21. The Bilgesnipe incident/Kid Loki

It is one of those dreams that you cannot escape, no matter how conscious you are of your dreaming state. Not that you want to leave, not this dream at least, because the moment you see your own small feet move across the forest floor, you realize it is a childhood memory you had thought forgotten.

The other children are whispering around you, excitement making your steps feel light and the air smell sweeter.

Today is one of the days you’re learning about professions, about future possibilities and everyone is looking forward to another job that they will be able to choose from.

Everyone is excited about the change to get out of the classroom.

“Do you think we will see a Forester?” Ulf, one of the boys in front of you asks his friend, “I want to be one when I grow up but I don’t know if I’m brave enough! You have to fight passing Bilgensipes!”

“Shh!” Someone else shushes him and you try to step on your tiptoes and see where you’re going. You’re walking at the back like you often do, mostly because it’s tiring to have to walk in the middle where everyone chatters about nonsense anyway.

You will never understand what others find interesting about dresses, swords or the fact that Thor will be the king one day. They can call him prince all they want, he’s just a boy, merely a year older than you. A Boy that likes to pick his nose and smear the snot into his clothes when no one is looking.

Gross.

His brother, Prince Loki, is not much better on most days, but as he steps out of the group and into the shadow of a tree, you realize what exactly you are remembering.

You follow him, eager to see what the prince could find more interesting than meeting the Asgardian Forester.

He slips from one tree to the next, his steps quick, just like a cat. He does not trample through the forest and you mirror his movements until he stops and turns around.

“Why are you following me?” He hisses.

You shrug. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Go back to the rest of the class.”

You don’t move at all, just send him a challenging glare. Prince Loki is tall for his age, just as tall as his slightly older brother, but he’s thin and gangly and you remember from your dancing lessons that if you’d push him, he’d fall.

“Class is boring,” you tell him instead, “I already know what a Forester does, I read books.”

“Yeah, I know,” Loki crunches up his nose into a sneer, “I’m surprised you don’t have one with you know.”

“Jokes on you,” you tell him and pat the bag that’s hanging from your shoulder, “I have on with me. Heimdall gave it to me yesterday.”

“What is it about?”

“The Convergence.”

Loki’s eyes light up at your words and you furrow your brows in confusion. You wouldn’t have picked him as a reader.

“Do you want me to lend it to you when I’m finished?”

“Pff,” he throws his hand in the air, “I don’t need you to lend me stuff,” he says and tries to look completely at ease but fails when he cocks his head slightly and licks his lips in the uneasy manner he often has, “but if you want to, you can.”

You grin. “If you show me where you’re going, I will.”

He groans. “Fine. Come with me. But if you cry or rat me out, I will push you into the creek.”

“I will push you first!”

“Whatever!”

.

As you walk through the forest, Loki is still not willing to tell you where you’re going. And as you are unable to keep quiet for long, you start to do the one thing you know that gets people talking. You ask questions.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” You ask and he looks at you like you’re mad.

“I’m a prince, what do you  think I’m going to be when I grow up?”

“Still a prince?” You ask back and he pulls an angry face and stomps away. You follow him quickly.

“Could you become king?” You ask when you’ve reached him, “Do you even want to become King?”

“Father says it’s my birthright to be King,” Loki explains and ducks under a branch.

“But do you want to be one?” You ask and he turns around to stare at you.

“Why wouldn’t I want?”

“What would you do as a king?” You ask, “Because I’d never want to be King. Or a Queen? Well, maybe if I could be Queen Frigga but I can’t be another person.”

He furrows his brows at you. “I don’t know, I’d make sure that we have peace.”

“Would you get us more books?” You climb after him over a big rock, barely quick enough to catch the small smile on his lips at your words.

“I would, yes.”

“Well, then you’re surely a better King then Thor,” you realize, “But I’d rather have Queen Frigga forever, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. What do you want to be when you grow up? Isn’t your father part of the council?”

“Guess!” You jump off the other side of the rock, slipping on the wet moss and crashing knees first into the ground. It doesn’t hurt, but your knees get dirty.

Loki helps you up.

“Librarian.”

“Yes!” You smile, “But, not just one that works every second day and puts the books back. I want to be the guardian of the Library.”

“I don’t think they still exist,” Loki remarks and you sigh.

“Yeah, I know. But think of it! They know everything from every book, keeping the entire knowledge of Asgard and the nine realms in their head! Maybe, if I manage to read every book there is in the library, they will make me the guard. I wouldn’t mind being the only one for centuries to come.”

“You’re weird,” Loki states, “That’s good.”

You smile at him and he smiles back, ushering you forward.

“We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

“Watch,” he says simply and walks out into a small clearing. There’s a creek running through it, but otherwise, it isn’t that special.

“What is it?” You ask and step into the clearing as well.

Loki turns in a circle, his arms spread wide.

“This is one of the places that are covered in old magic. There are quite a few on Asgard and if you manage to step into one, not only do all spells get more powerful but also you are hidden from Heimdall and his eyes because there is so much magic working through it.”

“Can you feel it too?” You ask, shivering at the palpable power in the air. Your voice sounds weird, you notice and Loki must have too because he turns around to look at you.

“Did someone train you in magic?” He asks, “Your father, maybe?”

“No, I read a bit about it,” You state, “It’s just like the guard of the library. Everyone could be able to use it, but no one really does anymore.”

Loki looks at you, something entirely new and confusing in his eyes.

“Mother knows how to use magic,” he says calmly, “She has taught me a few things I could try, but… you should try first.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so,” he smirks, “Or are you scared?”

“I’m not scared!” You puff out your cheeks, “Watch!”

You storm over to the creek, thinking of the spells you’ve read about. You need one that is easy, but still looks impressive and you smile slightly when you remember one and stretch your hands out over the gurgling water.

The water freezes under your hands, every single flying droplet of water, from where you’re crouching through the whole clearing.

“It works,” you say softly, surprised by the power yourself.

As you turn around to look at Loki, you find him staring down at you.

“It’s your turn now,” you say simply and he closes his eyes to focus.

His figure blurs before your eyes, expands and grows until the King himself stands before you.

“Get up!” He orders and you struggle to your feet, the old man’s firm voice shaking you.

“Is that you, Loki?” You ask, scared and the King transforms again, skin blue, limbs long and ghastly, piercing eyes staring down at you from great heights.

You recognize the form of a Frost Giant from pictures, but knowing that it’s just magic, that it’s just Loki, doesn’t ease the panic that makes your heart lurch into your throat.

The Frost Giant steps forward and you react on instinct and cast a shield spell.

But you’ve forgotten about the magic in the air that’s amplifying every ounce of magic you use. You watch helplessly as the shield rips the image of the Frost Giant from Loki, the pure force of the spell sending the boy flying through the air.

“Loki!” You scream and run towards him where’s landed on the edge of the clearing.

He picks up his head to glare at you.

“Why did you do that?”

“You scared me!”

His hair is a mess and he’s got a scratch on his forehead, but as you try to help him up, he smacks your hand away.

“Don’t! I can do this myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t!” You snap back, grab his arm and pull him up anyway. He glares at you but is cut short from another insult when you hear voices sound through the forest around you.

“They’re looking for us!”

“Quick!” Loki sprints towards the trees, pulling you with him as you’re still holding his arm, “They can’t find this clearing!”

You stumble and fall, but he pulls you up again.

You climb up the big rock again, scraping up your knees on the rough texture of it.

“What are we gonna tell them?” You ask, breathlessly, as you try to catch up with Loki.

“Not the truth,” he pants back, “Not that it matters, Lady Sigrid will be angry anyway. She’s going to tell me that I should be more like Thor,” he grunts and pulls you behind a tree as he looks through the forest, measuring the distance you’ve already come.

“I have an idea,” you whisper, “But we have to lie.”

“I have no problem with that, as long as you’re a good liar.”

You ponder that for a second before you lean forward to whisper something in Loki’s ear. He raises an eyebrow.

“That sounds fun,” he mumbles, “And Thor would be so mad at us! Let’s do it!”

.

“Where were you?” Lady Sigrid asks the two of you, her voice furious as she circles you.

The rest of the class eyes you curiously, the dirt on your clothes, the fir needles in your hair, the scrapes on your knees and the cut on Loki’s forehead.

“I saw some mushrooms I’ve read about and walked off to look at them,” you explain, “But I must have walked too far because I couldn’t find the class anymore.”

Sigrid looks from you to Loki, who’s copied the abashed look on your face, “I followed her because I feared she would get lost.”

“And you couldn’t have told me?” Sigrid groans, “Instead you thought it was cleverer to get lost as well?”

“We would have walked back to the path right away,” you explain and force your lips to quiver, “But… there was a Bilgesnipe and… and Loki saved me from it, he pushed me out of the way, but we fell down a hill and didn’t find back until you called for us.”

The teacher stops, looking at you as if she’s trying to find a different story hidden beneath your words.

“Loki saved you from a Bilgesnipe?”

“That’s a lie,” Brunhilde snaps, “She’s lying! Prince Loki is way too weak to save someone from a Bilgesnipe, right Thor?”

“Eh-” makes Thor, looking uncomfortable with being questioned like that.

“You’re the weak one!” You snap back at her before he can say something, “He didn’t try to fight it, you idiot! He used his head and got us out of the way.”

“That’s exactly what the Forester told us what we should do when a Bilgensipe appears!” Ulf shouts in excitement, jumping up and down, “Loki is as brave as a Forester!”

Loki fights not to sneer at this comparison, but you step on his foot and grin into Ulf’s direction.

“Right?! It’s way better to be smart than to be strong and an idiot!” You glare into Thor’s direction, who is so confused at that, that the fails to fold his arms over his chest as he had planned to do.

In the end, your plan succeeds.

And when you part ways at the edge of the forest, Loki raises his hand to wave at you with a smile.

“I owe you,” he mumbles as a farewell and you grin.

“I owe you too,” you tell him and step onto the street that leads to your home, turning around one last time to watch him run after Thor.

You blink and see the blue sky high above you, realizing that you’ve woken up from this dream that’s been more of a memory than anything else.

The Bilgesnipe incident, that the two of you have referred to for years or the day that the two of you had become friends.

Or the day you had discovered what your magic feels like.

-

 


	22. The Guardian of the Library

“I think we will have to talk about the way we sleep,” you say as you slip into a fresh nightgown that evening.

Heimdall turns to look at you.

“Firstly if you’re trying to stop that… sharing the bed thing for a while, maybe you should start wearing something to bed,” you note. You keep your eyes on his and you’re thankful for that, because you might have missed the flicker of amusement in them otherwise.

“Noted,” he says, takes of his trousers and folds them to store them away for the night, “And what is the second thing?”

“You are a pretty light sleeper. You tend to wake up when I move and since the spell I’m unable to sleep through the night.”

“I would want you to rouse me even if I would sleep like the dead, dearest. I don’t want you to be up and alone.”

“Maybe I like to be alone from time to time,” you tell him, “It’s peaceful at night.”

He nods in understanding. “I get that. I can’t promise that I won’t wake up either way, but if you tell me that you want to be alone for a while, I promise to go back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, “But… how do we sleep?”

He looks at you, at the bed and back at you.

“How do you want to sleep?”

You bite your lip, trying to figure it out.

-

When you wake up in the middle of the night, you both have moved anyway, right into each other’s arms. Your legs are tied with his and as you lie there, your mind coming to live, you feel your toes grazing his knuckle as you sleepily wiggle your right foot.

You don’t want to get up. You don’t want to be awake at this time of the night.

But your mind has other plans and as you fight to get tired again, you feel the urge to get up and find the black book. It’s almost like it’s calling for you, telling you to lie to Heimdall.

He’s made it easy for you, after all. You only have to tell him that you need to be alone for a while and you can do as you please. After all, he might take the book away from you tomorrow and what will you do then?

You pinch the bridge of your nose, as an unsettling feeling forms in your stomach, as you feel like you have to jump and run, but just know that you shouldn’t.

Your heart is in your throat as you raise your hand and press it against Heimdall’s shoulder.

If he wakes, you will tell him, if he doesn’t, you don’t know if you can stop yourself.

To your relief he blinks once, rubs his eyes and looks at you.

“Hey,” he mumbles sleepily, “Trouble falling asleep again?”

“More than that,” you tell him honestly, “I feel like that damned book is calling me.”

“Oh,” he sits up, “What can we do?”

“Distract me, maybe?”

You look at his chest and up into his eyes again. You don’t dare to ask for a physical distraction, knowing that it would just make him feel bad about it. He doesn’t want it to be a distraction and you respect that.

“Tell me something? About your family, maybe?”

“My family?” He pulls you closer and lets you rest your head on his chest, his left hand softly rubbing your back in soothing circles, “What do you want to know?”

“Your father, maybe? Or just anyone you want to talk about, I like the way you speak about them.”

He smiles softly.

“Well, my father was a stonemason. You know that giant statue of Bor? He made that.”

You furrow your brow. “He did? But, wasn’t he the guard?”

“What? No, well, he carried the all-seeing eye, but as he was only the youngest son, he never went to guard the Bifrost. Alex, Moira’s husband, was guard until his death and then I took over.”

“How old were you then?”

“Almost eighteen,” Heimdall says, his voice softer than usual.

“Were your parents still alive then?”

“No,” you raise your head to look at him and see a wistful look in his eyes, “They got killed, when I was almost sixteen,” he admits and if you hadn’t been so close and the world so quiet, you might have missed the way his voice tightened just the faintest bit.

“I don’t want to keep you up with that story,” he mumbles, his thumb pressing into your shoulder blade.

“I’d love to hear it whenever you’re ready to tell it,” you raise your hand, wanting to cup his cheek like he’d often done with you, but somehow it doesn’t feel enough. You put it on his collarbone instead, your fingertips grazing the soft skin of his neck.

“Dearest, I have something to ask of you,” he switches topics and you nod, urging him to go on.

“I don’t want you to lie to anyone, but I want you to keep your ability a secret.”

“The all-seeing eye?”

Heimdall nods, a soft sigh escaping his lips before he speaks on.

“I remember how hard it was, growing up, because everyone knew. My father admitted that he never told anyone but my mother that he had the gift, because he didn’t want to be looked at the same way they looked at his brothers.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice a mere whisper, “Well, okay, I can try. I already told Loki though- are you going to tell Odin that Loki is still alive?” You add, realizing that after what your friend has done you should have been the one telling Odin about it.

“I will have to,” Heimdall admits, “I will have to say that the Valerian you burned during the wedding night opened my eyes to see more but even if we burned Valerian now, I won’t be able to see it.”

You sigh. “I know. I just hope that he’s not going to do anything stupid.”

“Your words in the ears of the Gods. Now, do you think you’re tired enough to fall asleep again?”

You blink. “Maybe. Can you tell me a bit more? Your parents sound so nice, what were their names? Who cooked? Whose idea were the chickens?”

Heimdall laughs softly, “Their names were Sigrun and Bjørn. My father liked to cook, my mother only used the stove to make healing potions or herbal teas and such, because she got distracted easily and burned everything. And the chicken’s were a present from my father when I got ten. I wanted a pet and he wanted eggs for breakfast. Obviously the chicken’s out there are not the same I got when I was little, but they are from the same family. You are currently looking after their grandchildren’s.”

“Did you give them names?”

Heimdall smiles, a cheeky little grin that lights up his face, “Yes, in fact, I did.”

You sit up and stare at him, eagerness burning the faint traces of exhaustion you had felt before. “I will not be able to rest before you tell me their names!”

“Well then, listen and learn.”

.

When you wake in the morning, one of your legs is dangling over the edge of the bed, but your nose is buried in the soft skin of Heimdall’s neck and when you lick your dry lips, you accidentally lick his skin as well.

You move back immediately and slip off the bed in the process. As you land on the floor, you hear Heimdall laugh.

“You seem to be very eager to start the day, dear.”

“A day started with laughter often ends with laughter,” you snap back and hear him laugh even louder. Well, your day could have started worse.

When you have to leave the house half an hour later, you regret waking up at all.

“We could go back to bed,” you tell Heimdall when he moves to open the door, “I could wriggle my feet between yours, ut my head on your chest and sleep through the day.”

“As nice as that sounds, I’m afraid we can’t do it.”

“One last motivational kiss then?” You ask, “Because you’re going to talk to Odin and I’m going to talk to Lady Eira and I need something to lift me up for that.”

He kisses you until you have to hold onto him to be able to stand and then he leans back and smiles and pecks you on the lips one last time.

“If you make it through the day, I promise it will be worth it.”

You pull your lips up into a lazy grin.

“The way you’re saying this I’m guessing you’re thinking about reading a bedtime story to me.”

“Yes, that is also an option. Now, come on, I will walk you to the healing rooms and if we go now, we can take the longer route through the forest.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you grumble, close the door behind you and take his hand.

.

When you step out of the healing rooms, you let out a sigh of relief.

You’d never have thought for this meeting to go so smoothly, nor for Lady Eira to be forgiving.

“Don’t bewitch me ever again,” she had simply said, “And I will be fine.”

That aside, there was still nothing any of you could do about your infertility.

“You will have to wait and see if it gets better over time. Do not lose hope and I’m sure it will happen when your body is ready for it.”

Sure, it hadn’t been the answer you had hoped for, but after yesterday it did not matter that much anymore. If Heimdall could be okay with adopting a child, you could get over yourself as well.

Just as you turn to walk away, you feel Heimdall’s presence in your head. You had forced his presence out of your mind, determined to only focus on Eira as that had made you anxious enough on its own.

Now he placed an image of the library doors in your head, calling you there.

“Is it bad?” You ask him.

“No. Everything is alright. But there’s someone who wants to meet you.”

You furrow your brows but pick up your pace anyway.

When you reach the library doors, Heimdall is awaiting you, but he isn’t alone.

“Hello, dear,” Queen Frigga greets you and you stop and stare, unable to bow before her as you should.

The Queen just laughs softly and beckons you to come closer, “There is someone who wants to meet you and I’m afraid he’s a bit impatient. If you would follow me?”

“Is Heimdall coming with us?” You ask and Heimdall sends you a soft smile and shakes his head.

“I have to go back to the Bifrost, but I will keep my eyes on you, dearest,” he promises and you’re very close to asking him to stay either way. You don’t, eventually, because you don’t want to look like an infant in front of the Queen.

Heimdall takes your hand and squeezes it before he turns and leaves and you’re left alone with the Queen who pushes open the library doors and leads you inside.

You follow her through the rooms to the back where the old books are left, where magic lights glow and plants grow. Frigga pushes aside a curtain made of deep blue silk and leads you up a winding stair into an apartment that is small in size but dominated by windows that are larger than yourself, flooding the room with light.

The air up here is so soaked with magic that you can barely breathe. You wish someone would open a window, even though you know that fresh air won’t do anything about the amount of magic.

“I know, it is a bit much, dear,” a husky voice mumbles and you turn, only now noticing the old man that’s sitting at the small table. He’s tiny, his air white, his body so fragile that you fear a wisp of wind will blow him away, “But if you could sit down, that would be nice. I’m not that good with standing around anymore, I believe.”

You share a look with Queen Frigga, who smiles and nods encouragingly and you sit down at the other side of the table.

The man is blind and he looks right through you, his hands folded on the table in front of him.

He’s wearing two rings on his finger, one is small and golden, the other big and silver with a a greenish stone the size of a thumbnail. The second ring looks like it should tell you something, reminds you of the ring you have seen the King wear, but for the first time in forever, your memory is failing you.

“Sanborn, this is Y/N, the one Heimdall has told you about. Y/N, this is Sanborn,” Frigga smiles, “He is the Guardian of the Library.”

 


	23. The Black Book’s Origin

“The Guardian of the Library?” You ask, your voice shrill, “But- They- You- I…”

Sanborn giggles, the high pitch of his voice making it sound like nails on a chalkboard.

“You thought I wouldn’t exist anymore, huh?” He giggles and if not for Frigga calming the two of you down, he might have choked on his own laughter.

“The identity of the guard might not be the best hidden in secret in the nine realms, but it not something to showcast either.”

“When it’s your duty to keep all and every wisdom in your head, more than just one enemy would want to have you either dead or alive in their hands,” Sanborn recites and you stare at him, unable to comprehend just how much this means to you.

When you had first learned about him, there had been so much you had wanted to know, so many questions that now felt silly.

“How much do you know?” You ask Sanborn instead and he giggles again.

“That is a daring question. I know more than every guard has known before me, but I know so much less than all the guards after me will know. The world’s are changing everyday, they are creating, exploring, inventing. When I was born, Midgard had barely seen live but now? I’ve heard the prince got stabbed by one!”

“It was but a needle,” Frigga intervenes and Sanborn giggles like a madman.

“A needle. What a funny little word. But you are here, now, with your young mind and your healthy eyes and that book, where did you find that book again?”

You freeze and look over to Frigga. She smiles encouragingly.

“Prince Loki gave it to me,” you say the truth. Frigga doesn’t look surprised. Heimdall must have told her the truth as well.

“Aaah, Prince Loki,” Sanborn nods, “I should have known he would steal something. But I liked talking to him, he made time pass by faster.”

You send Frigga a questioning look. There is sadness in her eyes as she speaks.

“Loki… we thought that becoming the new guard might calm him down a little.”

You open your mouth, unable to find the words you want to say.

“He declined,” Sanborn explains, “Said he might find someone else for me. Apparently he did. Now tell me, who are you?”

“I-” You stare at him, still trying to comprehend what Loki had done, “Hasn’t Heimdall told you? Or Frigga?”

Sanborn giggles again, “Oh yes, that was really interesting. But who are you?”

“I am…” You stop and stare at Sanborns fingers that are barely more but skin covered bones, “I am Y/N and I believe that I will be the new Guard of the Library of Asgard.”

Sanborn looks at you, his blind eyes big with curiosity, his face frozen in a mad looking grin until he starts to laugh. His laughter ends in a coughing fit, but he leans forward and grabs your hand with his, his aim too perfect to make his complete blindness believable.

“You are perfect! Now, let me introduce you to your teachers,” he pulls you up with surprising strength and leads you through the apartment to book shelves mounted on one of the walls.

You count ten books, taken aback by the small number. You would have expected him to own more.

“This,” he points to the books, “This is all you’ll ever need.”

You open your mouth to say something, but bite your tongue instead, when you recognize the third book to the right. It’s the black book.

“Are you sure?” You ask and his answer is a short giggle.

“Dear, have you ever heard the saying that when a person dies, a whole library burns down?”

“Yes?”

Sanborn nods. “There have been guards before me. They have collected all that has ever been known, have written it down, have protected what they had. We are called guards of the library and everyone thinks of the books that are below our feet now, but that is wrong. This is the library I guard.”

He gestures to the books right in front of him and points to the one at the far right.

“Mjadveig was the first. She was skilled in magic, one of the last Giants… She preserved her mind between this pages. Adalherr, her successor, did the same. He was more of a violent nature. The times were different. Hegbjorn was more one for mischief.” Sanborn pulls out the the black book and holds it up. “He has tried to mess with you. It was a test and you passed.”

“I passed?” You echo and Sanborn turns to show you a grim smile

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

You swallow dryly but he moves on, naming the books in front of you and finally ending on a dark green one, pulling it out of the shelve and putting it into your hands.

“And this is me. I lived the longest of all of us so far. I lived a long, mostly lonely life. You will notice when you read the things I’ve written down,” he says, “I tend to use more words than necessary, talked too much about my beloved. You will understand, I believe.”

He stretches and smiles at you, reaching out his hand to pat your cheek, “Ach, it’s good to go home. I’m so tired of this world anyway. I don’t understand the new things and the old things I know too well. You will do great, dear, you will do great.”

He pulls the thick ring off his finger and before you know what’s happening, he grabs your left hand and pushes the ring onto your finger. The dark green turns into your favorite color and Sanborn giggles.

“Ah, what a nice color. Mjadveig will like you.”

There’s a gust of wind that moves through his long white hair and burns in your eyes.

You blink and he’s gone and there’s nothing left of him but the dark green book in your hands.

“What-?” You ask and turn around to Frigga, who’s still sitting at the table.

She shows you a soft smile.

“Sanborn died a few years ago,” she explains, “You saw what he wanted you to see. Now that he’s given you the ring, there is nothing holding him back anymore.”

You look at where he had been standing and back to Frigga.

“And what do I do now?” You ask, feeling helplessness wash over you.

You should have taken your time, should have talked to Heimdall about it, should make sure what you’ve gotten yourself into before you’ve taken the leap.

“You start reading,” Frigga says, stating it so simply that you can barely believe it, “Because all you’ll ever need to know is written in the books around you.”

You look at her, down at the ring on your finger and the book Sanborn has given you. His mind, preserved between pages.

You take a deep breath, take a step forward and pull the other books from the shelves, grab them and take them over to the table where you lay them out.

“Alright,” you say, more to yourself than to anyone else, “No tricks, no lies, just the good old truth. Tell me what I need to know.”

You pull your magic into your right arm and wave it over the books. The magic that has woven itself into every crevice of this room responds, magnifying your own force.

With a gust of wind, all ten books open and the letters start to dance in front of you, ten different kinds of letters, pictures and colors of ink, forming words and sentences and stories.

You take a deep breath, sit down and start to read.

-

Eventually, a warm hand touches your shoulder, making you snap up and curse in a language that’s unfamiliar to your own ears.

“By Odin’s underwear,” you sigh, “What are you doing here, Heimdall?”

He grins at you and you realize with a sudden shock, that the second curse has come out in the Asgardian language. You turn to apologize to Queen Frigga, only to find that she’s not there with you anymore.

“It’s gotten late,” he says, “Frigga has asked me to get you.”

“What? How late?” You turn only to see that the sky outside has turned dark. “How?”

“Come on,” Heimdall helps you get up from the chair, “You must be tired. I’ll get you home.”

“I am tired,” you say as you step up and sway, unable to find your balance, “But the books-”

“This room is safe. Sanborn only lived here when he got too old to walk from his home to the library. You can leave them here.”

“Oh,” you make, don’t even object when Heimdall lifts you up easily and carries you down the stairs.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” You ask when you’re on your way, somewhere between the library and your home, “When you talked to Frigga or Sanborn?”

“Well, it seemed quite likely,” he confesses, “I knew how you thought about the position of the guard.”

“You knew who Sanborn was and you never told me?” You realize in surprise and Heimdall sighs.

“It was a secret.”

“Oh, I know,” you nod, “I would have wanted to meet him right away. Better to have it happen this way, I guess.”

“We can decide who you want to know as soon as you have settled in your new position,” Heimdall proposes and helps you through the door of your home, “But let’s eat first. You must be starving.”

-

Three days later you walk into the small apartment with a naturalness you’d never thought you’d gain so easily.

You’ve found a pattern in the books, have managed to create a rather shaky work routine that you’re trying to perfect, but haven’t yet.

Mjadveig has been the most fascinating book so far, the things she’s telling you sounding so foreign and yet familiar that you can hardly stop reading what she’s telling you.

Sanborn’s book is of similar interest to you. A lot of the people he names are somehow familiar to you and more than once you have to stop and walk down into the main library where there’s no lingering magic that clouds your and Heimdall’s vision so you can tell him stories about his family he hasn’t heard before.

But there are others you’re careful with.

Adalherr, for example, who seems to know every way one could kill every single being on the nine realms. His writing is grim, the letters etched into the pages.

Hegbjorn, or the guard of mischief, as you’ve started to call him, lets new spells and riddles appear on his pages whenever you look away. He’s still trying to win you over again, still trying to get you to succumb to his magic.

You won’t let him, no matter how much you want to sometimes.

It’s your third day as a guard and Odin has asked you through Heimdall to find a way to rebuild the Bifrost. You’re pretty sure that Mjadveig knows how to do it and there are two other guards who are surely able to tell you, but you take your sweet time, determined to ease yourself into this first.

It helps that this means you can let the Allfather wait a little bit longer.

-

Your peace is suddenly shaken when you hear noise downstairs.

You put the books away and run down, adamant on seeing what is going on.

There’s a man standing in the middle of the library, clad in the armour of the palace guards.

“There has been an ambush, mylady,” he stumbles over the words, “The Bifrost has been attacked.”

Your blood freezes and your hand reaches to your throat as if it could rip away the feeling of being choked.

“Heimdall?” You croak and the guard looks to the floor.

“It doesn’t look good,” he admits, “He’s in the healing room, but- the poison has taken down many men already. Heimdall is fighting, but we’re not sure- They asked me to take you to the healing room.”

You swallow, your heart beating so loud you can hear nothing else.

“One moment,” you press out, “Give me one moment!”

You run up to the apartment and grab Adalherr’s book, stuffing it into your bag. Right as you’re about to leave, you turn back around and grab Hegbjorn’s and Mjadveig’s too, just to be sure. If anyone can help Heimdall now, it’s those three.

-


	24. never doubt my love

It’s different this time, seeing Heimdall in the healing room.

You are stronger, you know him better, know how strong he is, but there he lies in front of you, his complexion somehow ashy and waxy.

“They came from Nilfheim,” someone tells you, while a healer explains that they still haven’t gotten an antidote yet. What they’re using is slowing the effects of the poison significantly, but stretching the whole process makes it only more painful, you observe, as Heimdall twists and turns, his mouth stretched into a thin line, agony visible in every one of his limbs.

Heimdall does barely recognize you when you touch his shoulder. His face glistens from cold sweat and his eyes are hazy when he tries to focus on your face. You push your mind into his, show him the clear sky above to settle him and he whispers your name in his thoughts, unable to get his tongue around the word to say it out loud.

But then the painkillers wear off and he screams in agony, his limbs flailing around, the bandage around his leg turning a bloody shade of red. You have to fight the panic down to get someone to help him, get him something to ease the pain.

“Tie him down,” someone orders and there are too many arms for you to count, arms that grab Heimdall’s body and hold him down. He shakes them off, hitting his injured leg on the side of the bed’s frame and screaming in pain. Something in you snaps, like a cord that had been pulled too tight. You move in a heartbeat, grab his shoulder with your left hand and press your right against his skull, pushing your mind into his, through the cracks that pain and delusion have left. Your magic pours into him and his body drops down, limp and unmoving now. His mind turns blank, like a freshly wiped mirror and you look up to see Eira pulling an empty syringe out of his skin. She nods at you, her mouth a firm, grim line and you force yourself to place an image in his head, choose the sea of Asgard, waves licking at the Bifrost like it used to be.

You straighten and face Eira, keep focused in order to avoid looking at the wound on Heimdall’s leg. You’re not sure if you can stomach that sight yet.

“How long does he have?” You ask, “How many days do we have to find an antidote?”

“Hours,” Eira answers and you grab the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

.

Soon after you leave the cluttered mess of the healing room and step into the hallway. It’s just as busy there, but less personal.

You grab a guard passing by and pull him towards you.

“A message from Heimdall to the King,” you tell him, “They will come through a passage on the north side. Five hundred men. Prepare for poisoned weapons, they’ve realized it’s our weakness.”

The guard nods, panic in his eyes and steps away only to walk into the arms of Thor.

“My prince,” you great him, but you do not bow. Your new position does not call for that, but even if it did, you wouldn’t. You’re too busy ignoring Sif’s glare, “What brings you here?”

“Heimdall?”

You can feel your lips pull into the same grim line that Eira had displayed earlier.

Thor nods with a sigh. “He’s able to see?”

“He has his mind open for me,” you tell him and it’s only half of the truth because his mind is always open for you and if you’re the seeing one no one needs to know. “As long as I keep up that connection, I will be able to see what is going on and tell you, I hope.”

Thor nods again and turns to leave with the guard.

Sif stays behind, piercing you with her glare.

“I don’t trust you,” she snaps.

“I don’t care,” you tell her, “Think of me whatever you want, I have more important matters to attend to.” You turn around to leave but whirl around on instinct rather than thought, “But if you’re actually willing to help someone else but you, come back after that attack. Alive.”

She snorts. You part without a farewell.

.

Heimdall receives a room for himself by Odin’s order. Not that he notices the change, but it helps you focus. There’s a guard at the door, watching you as you put your hand into a basin of ice water until it has cooled down before you lay it on Heimdall’s forehead. It serves a doubled purpose. It eases his fever and it helps to strengthen the illusion that Heimdall lets you see what he sees.

Your left hand is hovering about the pages of Adalherr’s booking as you give your magic the firm taste of determination.

Adalherr confesses he knows a lot of poisons, but he has no antidote for them. He suggests to ask his successor and you fight back a groan.

Hegbjorn dances around the topic. He still wants you to use that damned love potion. You pour anger into your magic, the dry kind of anger that rips stones apart and flattens mountains. He relents, in his own way.

Too proud to give in, he shows you the plants you’ll need and a riddle to solve in order to find the right way to combine them.

“Would that I had now what I had yesterday, find out what that was; mankind it mars, speech it hinders, yet speech it will inspire. This riddle ponder, as its answer is the key to your triumph,” you read out loud and growl in frustration.

“I hope you died a gruesome death,” you tell him and the guards head snaps up as he looks at you in shock.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” you tell him, “Please fetch Lady Eira for me. And if she’s around, Lady Sif as well.”

Eira stumbles in first, her clothes stained with fresh blood.

You show her your scribbled notes, the ingredients for the antidote.

“With have all of that here, except the wood cranesbill,” she explains, “But how is the antidote made from them?”

You think of the riddle Hegbjorn has given you and purse your lips. “I’ll get to that,” you tell her, “but first I need the Wood Cranesbill.”

“There’s some growing on the south hills,” Eira licks her lips as she thinks, “WE could send a guard there-”

“The guards stay,” a voice from the doorway interrupts her. You look up to see Sif, her armor caked in blood, dirt and something black that must be poison, “I can get that stuff for you.”

“Do you know how Wood Cranesbill looks like?”

She snorts. “It’s that stuff that smells awful, right? I’ll get it.”

“If you’re not sure, take someone with you. The antidote is important-”

“I know that!” Sif interrupts you sharply, “I get the herb, you get the antidote ready. And if you’re so smart, find a way to defeat that poison before it kills half of our army. Like it or not, the kingdom is more important than one man.”

She turns around and storms away and you’re stunned for a moment before you run after her. There’s bile on your tongue from her last comment, but when you reach her and grab her arm to stop her, the insults that are ready on your tongue stay behind for a matter that is more important. 

“How many died?”

She sends you a glare that’s filled with a multitude of emotion. “Too many.”

“Sif,” you stop her as she tries to walk away again, your voice softer than you think it could be in her presence, “I need your help.”

She snorts. “You do?”

“Yes,” the word slips out and you take a breath. That’s not what you wanted to say, not how you thought you would lead any conversation with her.Heimdall’s mannerism must have rubbed off on you. You’d rather tell her that Heimdall is, in fact, more important than all nine realms together, but as the words are out now you can’t take them back.

“Heimdall dies without you,” you tell her softly, “And you can doubt my loyalty to the king all you want, but never doubt my love for that man.”

“That’s not really reassuring,” she jokes grimly and you pull your notebook out and open it to her eyes, showing her the riddle instead of trying to get her to understand.

“Do you know what that means?”

She looks down at it, furrows her brow and looks back up at you, annoyance in her eyes.

“Ale,” she snaps, “The answer is Ale. What does this have to do with-”

“Everything,” you interrupt her, “I’ll tell you more when you get back. But, if you fear an attack on your way, drench yourself in Ale before you go.”

“What?”

“Just do it, you fool,” you growl and she rolls her eyes at you.

You part without a farewell again.


	25. choose your fights

It takes Sif two hours to get back to you.

Heimdall condition worsens and he’s the one who has managed to endure the poison the longest so far. Many men have been less lucky.

“Hold on just a little bit longer,” you tell him when the pain medication wears off again and Eira has to tell you that they can’t give him anything until the nighttime arrives or the medication would fulfill the poison’s purpose. You have to resort to magic instead and it pains you to silence his mind again and again.

Nilfheim is preparing another ambush and you tell the warriors to stay cautious. The advice is not doing much when they know that only one strike from the poisoned weapons can end their life.

“Ale,” Sif greets you when she enters, throwing the small pouch filled with herbs into your hands, “It works.”

“Thank you,” you say, meaning it with every fiber in your body. She merely shrugs.

“Prepare the antidote. I don’t want any more deaths.”

She leaves, but you run after her.

“Wait.”

“What else do you want?” She gnarls, “I need to get back to the others to fight Nilfheim. They need to know about the Ale.”

“You’ll need archers,” you tell her, your words tumbling out of your mouth in your hurry to get them into her mind, your voice hushed and breathy, “Tell them to dip their arrows into this potion. It guarantees that they will make every shot,” you push a bottle at her that she cautiously grabs. Next is a pouch.

“Nilfheim will attack at nightfall. They’re used to fighting in the dark. Thor’s lightning might shed some light, but not enough. Mix this powder with ten times its amount of sawdust, pour it into pouches the size of a fist, light it and throw it at them. It will make them give up,” you tell her simply and she stares at you as she grabs the pouch with powder.

“Why are you giving me this?” she asks,

You huff out a breath.

“They attacked my husband. I want them to know that it’s better to never try that again.”

She cracks a rare smile at you.

“If this works, I might consider not hating you anymore.”

“Do what you want,” you tell her curtly, “As long as you win this fight.”

-

You have to hold Heimdall down as Eira pours some of the antidote into his mouth. He coughs and almost spits it out, but she presses her fingers against his throat and massages it until he swallows it down. You throw the healer an expectant look, but she shakes her head.

“This things take time. The poison has spread much further in his body than it did with the others.”

You stare down at Heimdall as she pours another spoonful of antidote into his mouth. Your heart feels like it has been squeezed to the size of a pebble, every beat of it painful.

“Are you saying it might already be too late to work, even though it’s the right antidote?”

“I’m saying that you shouldn’t expect miracles, Y/N,” Eira mumbles softly, “Although finding the antidote so fast has to be a miracle at best.”

She leaves you a few minutes later with the instructions to make Heimdall take one spoonful of the antidote every fifteen minutes. He’s not fighting it anymore and that could be a good sign, but you’ve seen too much this last hours to ignore the fact that he could also just be too far gone already.

But then, after what feels like an eternity of waiting and hoping and doubting all the same, the fingers of his left hand stretch and curl against yours.

It’s the first real movement he’s made so far and you catch your breath just in time to notice his eyes fluttering open.

“Y/N?” He asks, his voice hoarse and raspy.

“Yes,” You grasp his hand, your fingers warm against his cold ones and lean forward to hear him better.

“My head hurts,” he tells you, voice sluggish now, words drawn together.

You can’t help an exasperated laugh.

“Your head? What about your leg?”

He tries to answer, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes right at the same time, going limb once again but only for a second, pulling himself out of his sleep-like state.

“What happened?” He asks and you rub your thumb across the back of his hand.

“Sleep. Get better. I’ll tell you when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” you hush and watch him close his eyes again, giving up his fight against exhaustion.

-

You keep watching over him, snuggled into the chair next to his bed, head sinking forward as you doze off from time to time only to snap back awake from the faintest sound he makes.

Every hour a healer comes by to check in on him and you watch their movements with eyes burning from exhaustion.

When Eira steps in in the early hours of another morning, she gives you a smile.

“He’s going to be fine,” she tells you after a quick assessment of the cut on Heimdall’s leg, “We’ll keep him for a few days to make sure that his body has fought down even the last remains of the poisons. It will take some time for his leg to heal though. Do you need someone to help you at home?”

“I think I’ll manage,” you say, “At least as soon as he can use his other leg.”

“There are quite a few things you need to keep in mind, but I’ll show you. It’s not that hard as soon as you’ve got the grasp on it.”

You nod and get up from your chair just as there’s a knock on the door.

You send Eira a surprised look that she reciprocates. She opens the door, revealing a palace guard.

“I’m here for Y/N,” he says, his voice calm and polite, “King Odin needs to talk to you.”

“Heimdall-” you start to say but he cuts you off.

“I’m told to bring you immediately as it is of an urgent matter.”

You swallow dryly and look over to Heimdall who is still asleep. You had wanted to be the first thing he sees when he regains conscious.

“Go,” Eira says, her voice determined, “I’ll be here if he wakes up before you’re back.”

You heave a sigh but comply.

-

The guard had been silent on the whole walk to the palace, not even offering the slightest hint as to what could be so important. You tried to ask him about the fights with Nilfheim, but he had just sent you a look that had silenced you.

Odin sat in his throne when you arrived, his raven sitting on his shoulder.

He said nothing until you had bowed before him, your mouth a grim line as you took satisfaction from the fact that sleep, worry and the wind this morning had turned your hair into a nest and your clothes were wrinkled and stained.

“I have called you here in your role as guard of the library,” Odin announces and you feel a pang of guilt as you think of the books that you’ve left behind on Heimdall’s side.

You keep silent and the king talks on.

“The Bifrost needs to be repaired. It has the highest priority.”

“I know that,” you answer curtly, “I’ve been looking for ways already.”

“No, you’re not,” he disagrees. I’ve been told that Heimdall is healing. I’ll give you a day to give me a better answer or I’ll send you to stay in the library until you do.”

You pull in a ragged breath, anger surging through you.

“That’s-”

“I’d not call it unfair, if I were you,” Odin says, his voice low and threatening, “You were the one wasting everyone’s time so far. You’ve been able to come up with not just an antidote but more in less than a day as soon as you’ve set your mind to it. Now leave. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Hopefully you have made up your mind then.”

There are tears in your eyes when you step out of the palace, but not tears of sorrow.

No, those tears are made from anger and anger alone.

-


	26. chapter + summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello dears, this is what I’ve already had of part 26 plus part 1 of the summary. I cut it because in the second part the movie Ragnarok is mentioned and I did not want to spoil it for those who haven’t seen it yet.

You’re so focused on checking on Heimdall that the surprise on your face is utterly real when you run into your mother.

“What are you doing here?” You ask her and she all but rolls her eyes at you.

“What do you think I’m doing here? Eira sent someone to explain us the situation. She thought I could be of help to you.”

“I-” you stop yourself as you realize that you will, in fact, need her help. You heave a sigh and let your mother put an arm around your shoulder.

“Everything will turn out just fine,” she assures you, “I used to train to be a healer, I do know some things that will be useful, trust me.”

“Yes, mother,” you agree softly because there’s no use in disagreeing anyway.

-

As you follow her through the hallways towards Heimdall’s room, your mind races through the same hallways, your eye faster than your thoughts could ever be.

You see Sif long before she opens the door and steps out into the hallway. You walk slower, making sure that she will have to pass you on her way out.

Her left arm is bandaged, but despite the dirt coating her armor, she looks fine otherwise.

“Sif,” you greet her and she nods at you as she walks past.

Her face is clear of any feeling and that is okay.

You’ve never really been friends but if she’s able to accept you again as she used to, you’ve come a long way with her.

And there is no way that she can deny that you had been of help in this fight, even without fighting alongside her.

-

“He was awake for five minutes before he went back to sleep,” Eira explains as you enter Heimdall’s room.

You sigh and nod and take your place in the chair as she explains to you and your mother all the things that you will have to take care of, everything you’ll have to look out for.

It takes her about an hour and when she’s finished, your mother looks at you with eager eyes.

“Is there something you’ll need to buy or do you have anything at home?”

You sigh again, “I think-”

“Oh, you know,” you mother interrupts you, “I think I have almost everything at home anyway. Do you want me to go home and pack everything up for you? That way I can tell your father that I’ll be taking care of the two of you the next weeks.”

You swallow dryly and force your mouth into a smile.

“That would be nice,” you choke out and she smiles and kisses your forehead.

“Eira told me that the King wanted to see you. Isn’t it nice how worried he is about Heimdall?”

“Well,” you press through your teeth, but shake your head to clear your thoughts before you tell her more than you should, “He asked me to take care of the Bifrost. Rebuild it.”

“Rebuild it? Can you do that?” She asks astonished and you nod.

“Yes, I can,” You stop to breathe, “But you know, I’ll tell you more when everything is settled and Heimdall is awake too, is that fine with you?”

“Of course it is,” she cards her fingers through your hair like she did when you were still a child, “I’ll come by in the evening, okay? Heimdall won’t be able to come home tonight, do you want to sleep in your old room?”

“I’ll stay here,” you decide quickly, “But if you could swing by our place and feed the chickens-?”

She smiles and nods and leaves and as the door closes behind her it feels like you’re finally able to really take a breath again.

You slide forward on your chair and press a kiss to Heimdall’s lips, looking for something that is equally understanding and encouragement.

His breathing remains even and you grab your books with a last heavy sigh.

-

When Heimdall wakes this time, there is the taste of magic on his tongue and a crackling sound in his ears, almost like thunder. The crackling stops and someone curses loudly right next to him. No thunder then.

He cracks one eye open to blink at you and you stop in your cursing to rush to his side.

“You’re awake.”

Summary:

You tell Heimdall everything Odin has said. Despite your protests, Heimdall insists that as Odin is the king, you have to listen to his word.

And from the few crackling sounds he’s heard grows the full-blown task to rebuild the Bifrost with magic alone. You have to weave your power into a form that looks and feels like glass but is much, much stronger.

And just as Odin has insisted, it is now your duty to rebuild the Bifrost as fast as possible. It’s a dangerous and terrible exhausting task and Heimdall’s leg is healing not nearly as fast as it should. And when you come home from “work” everything sparkles from when your mother has cleaned and there’s food ready and even though it’s helpful and your mother just tries to be nice, it’s hard for you to accept that she can’t do everything you want to do.

Heimdall is worried for your safety and asks one of his relative’s, Morton, to guard reader while you work. So when you come back to the Bifrost one morning, an old man with a wooden leg and facial scars that make his face look like it’s frozen into a grim smile, awaits you, right next to a guy her age with a nervous smile and a bald, tattooed head.

“I’m Skurge,” he says, “I’m here to watch the Bifrost while Heimdall can’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Morton assures you, “I’m here to watch over you.”

And you greet them and get back to work as quickly as you can, hoping to get this over with.

But that’s not enough. While your work doesn’t allow you to have more thoughts than necessary, Heimdall starts to overthink everything and everyone.

Morton watches over you on the Bifrost, but when you walk of the Bridge, there’s always one of the Warrior Three coming by, asking if you mind them walking you back home.

“I can look after myself,” you try to assure your husband, “I see just as much as you do.”

“Seeing things does not help if you can’t protect yourself from them,” Heimdall tells you, “I need you to be ready for the war we’re facing.”

And despite your mother’s protest, he sets up a training schedule for you.

First, it’s just the warrior’s three and Morton, who, despite his age, knows a few mean tricks.

But then you’re starting to improve, start to be able to do more and more after a day full of building that damned bridge and Heimdall’s starting to take staggering steps again.

You feel like everything starting to get good again.

The very next day the Bifrost is under attack. You survive with a broken arm and a giant scar on your back.

When Odin forces you to get back to work two days later, there’s a look on Heimdall’s face you’ve never seen before. You don’t argue when he hands you a sword and a dagger.

From this day on, you’re always armed.

And when you get back from work, the well-known figure of Sif awaits you on your doorstep.

“I’m here to train,” she announces. You do not argue.

The months pass. Heimdall starts to walk again. He starts to practice with you, one night a week, then two, then three. Your mother packs her things and leaves and never have you loved the quietness of your home more than that first night that you got it back.

Thor is hardly home. The spell of the mighty Asgard is broken. The realms rebel against King Odin and as the prince with the silver tongue isn’t there to speak the right words at the right time, Thor has to take over his brother’s role as well.

You see him a few times and when he nods at you in greeting you respond in the same way, but you never speak.

Some people talk about the fact that you’re lacking a child or at least a body that looks like it’s bearing one.

You can’t bring yourself to care about it.

The first anniversary of your marriage comes and passes. You spend it working on the bridge, Heimdall watching over you. When the night falls, you don’t go home, but take a seat on the edge of the bridge and watch the stars move.

“I want to have a child,” you tell him, “Because I want to have a child with you. But when I see the realms as they are now, I am afraid of asking for my wish to be fulfilled.”

He puts his arms around you, presses a kiss to your temple and with a sad smile you understand that he feels exactly the same way.

And as you push back that wish and gather your courage to make the best out of what you have, the one friend you’ve never quite managed to forget reemerges from the darkness he had been hidden in.

Loki is back. He is alive and out to fulfill a plan you don’t understand, far away from the realm of Midgard, where you can’t reach him.

Not that you don’t try. But after the first three times, he grows successful in cutting you out of his mind and you are left to watch him wreck havoc.

But the Avengers, as the Midgardians call their realm’s guardians, fight back with more strength than you thought they could possess and they overpower him.

Thor brings him back to Asgard, where he belongs, to receive his punishment. It’s either life in prison or death and despite your anger and resentment, you hope for the first.

“Should I ask to speak to Queen Frigga?” You ask Heimdall and he looks at you with that quiet sadness that always seems to overcome him at the mention of Loki.

“I’d like to say know, but I know I have to say yes,” he answers.

You speak to Queen Frigga, who does not seem surprised.

“It seems the two of us have been thinking the same thoughts,” she says, “I’m still trying to get him to show guilt, remorse, to understand what he’s doing, but he won’t quite listen to me. He’s been asking to see you. Maybe you can try and bring him to understand.”

And you try but fail just as you’ve done every time.

And you vow that this will be the last time you see him, that you won’t come back for him.

And then the realms start to align and the first real impact of the Convergence is the ceasing of the spell that has kept you infertile.

Loki might still be in your thoughts, but the fact that all of a sudden you’re pregnant pushes him back on your list of priorities.

But just as you think that you might get your chance to be happy now, the Convergence brings a new and yet old threat. The Dark Elves.

-


	27. summary pt2 + end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: RAGNAROK SPOILERS!!!
> 
> You’ve been warned.

As they attack Asgard, Heimdall enters your mind with a bit more force than necessary, telling you to grab your things and flee into the mountains.

You do, leaving with nothing more but a bag filled with the books you have to guard with your life.

From the old Castle in the mountains, you watch as Queen Frigga dies, afraid to come back down. You do, however, push your mind into that of Loki, because no matter how much he’s hurt you, he deserves to be able to attend his mother’s funeral. And if you have to make him see it through your all-seeing eye, then so be it.

But as soon as the funeral ends, he pushes you out of his mind again, not allowing you any entrance whatsoever and you have to watch, helplessly, as Thor begs your husband to help him flee.

There’s nothing you can do when Odin throws Heimdall into the prison Loki has just fled and when Loki pretends to die you’re unable to tell anyone, bound to the promise you’ve given Heimdall.

It is agony to watch and a lesson in patience.

As Loki takes over under the pretense of being Odin himself, you make your way back into Asgard, knowing that for now, the realms should be safe.

You watch Thor leave and make your way to the throne room, not the least bit surprised as Loki doesn’t even bother to keep up the image of being Odin. He watches you with curious eyes instead as you go down on your knees and swear your loyalty to him.

“I am surprised,” he tells you, “I thought you hated me.”

“I wouldn’t call it hate,” you correct him, “More like hurt feelings and hurt trust. I always knew you’d be a great king if you’d set your mind to it.”

He smiles and beckons you to come closer.

For almost an hour everything seems to be great. He seems to be the old Loki, the one that could be trusted, the one that always had the greater good in mind.

But then he slips when you ask him to release Heimdall and your heart stops when you see the look on his face.

“You don’t intend to release him?”

“He’s a traitor.”

“He helped you.”

“He helped Thor.”

“As king-”

“I cannot have him here,” he cuts you off, “I cannot be king when I know that he sees through everything I do.”

“I see through everything you do and you don’t mind me.”

“That is different.”

“No,” you remind him, “It’s not. Heimdall and I share more of a mind then the two of us. If you trust me, you trust him.”

“But I don’t trust him,” he insists, “And you can’t make me release him.”

You stare at him, your face blank.

“I told you that if you’d get between me and him, you’d be sorry,” you remind him, your voice calm and quiet, but the threat loud and obvious.

He tries to stare you down. He fails.

“I will release him,” he says, “But he will have to leave Asgard. I’m not willing to do more. If you want to stay with him, you’ll have to leave to.”

“You will regret that,” you tell him and turn around to leave.

“I’ll give you one hour,” he calls after you, “If you haven’t left Asgard by then, I will have my men go after you.”

One hour later your horse is climbing the hills right next to Heimdall. You carry the books of the Guardians on your back and when you turn you can see smoke rising from what had been the Palace library.

You leave your friends behind, unable to tell them why you’ve left. You leave your family behind, your parents who are safer when they stay.

Heimdall and you are on your own and there’s a child growing in your body that not Loki, nor anyone else but the two of you knows about.

Life in the mountains is hard but manageable.

You know you only have to stay until Thor returns, but you’re unable to contact him.

You keep yourself busy with reading the books you have to guard and watching Sigurd, your son, grow. He looks like his father, you swear, but his mind is more like yours.

In the mornings you practice your fighting skills, around noon you hunt, search for fruit or work in the garden you’ve built outside the old castle. In the evening you read to Sigurd, who likes to press his pudgy little hands onto the moving letters in the guard’s books.

It’s a life with a minimum of comfort, but you have what you need.

But just as you try to get comfortable waiting, Thor returns and with him, he brings trouble.

“She’s coming,” Heimdall warns you, just as the two brothers leave Asgard to get their father.

You don’t have to ask who he means.

“Go and get my parents,” you tell him, “I’ll watch Sigurd.”

Once again you’re left helpless as Hela returns to Asgard.

Right as your parents reach the Castle, Heimdall leaves again to get the sword that opens the Bifrost. You leave your son in your parents care and storm after him, armed with a bow.

Together you take up the task to guide refugees from Asgard to the Castle.

Not for the first time you’re thankful that you’ve never stopped practicing.

And when you have to pull a crying Kriemhild onto your horse to save her life, you’re thankful for the life you’ve led so far. You might have missed the comfort of a home in the city, but your husband is alive and your child is well.

You do what you can and shoot arrow after arrow, find refugees in the darkest corners of the woods that surround Asgard.

It doesn’t seem enough, but everytime you return to the Castle and press your son to your chest, you think that you’ll just have to hold her up long enough for Thor to return.

And he does return, and so does his brother, looking like he’s never left. You fight your way to freedom, but in the end, Asgard falls and even though it’s people are alive, the realm is no more.

-

“You have a son,” Loki greets you when he finds you, hidden away in a tiny room on the spaceship that has been your salvation.

“I do,” you agree and press the sleeping Sigur closer to your heart.

Your best friend stands there, hands pressed against his sides and you could be mistaken, but it looks like there’s heavy guilt in his eyes.

“You burnt down the library.”

“You know why I had to do it.”

“I do,” he agrees, “I just wish… I-”

“That you weren’t such a massive asshole that I had to do that to you.”

“Yes,” he agrees and you heave a sigh and stand up. “If you’re trying to apologize, you should do it properly.”

“I am sorry,” he says, “I meant to be a cleverer asshole than I was.”

“You missed out on being the guardian or my child,” you tell him, shaking your head at how easily you’ve forgiven him again.

“I did? Who got to be it instead of me?”

“No one,” you confess, “I kinda waited for you to realize what you’re missing out on.”

Everything in him softens as he awkwardly stretches out his hands, asking without words to hold your son. You give it to him.

“Have you found out why I gave that book to you?” He asks you when your boy has settled in those foreign arms.

“Yes,” you tell him, “Hegbjorn asked you to find a more suitable guardian and you thought of me. I did pass his tests if that was what you were wondering about.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admits, “I am afraid I have to ask you for something more, though.”

You stiffen immediately. “What?”

“I know we’ve been through a lot. You’ve been through a lot. I saw you fight, one doesn’t learn that overnight. But I fear there’s more coming and I know that with Hegbjorn’s book you could look into the future. I, Thor, everyone on this ship, we need a glimpse of the future to be better prepared.”

Maybe you give in too easily, but you give in any way.

A deep male voice, that sounds vaguely familiar. Words you’ve heard before.

“There was an idea…” A man, you recognize him as the one who had worn an iron suit when he had battled Loki, crumbling in front of your eyes as he speaks.

“To bring together a group of remarkable people…”

You see the man that had fought alongside Thor against Hela, now in his Midgardian form, crashing through a house, staring up at the magician that had helped Thor on his search for King Odin, the pictures now coming faster and faster.

You see more people, the girl that had bewitched Thor to make him see the doom of Asgard, all the guardians of Midgard and you see Thor, hear his voice.

“To see if we could become something more… So when they needed us, we could fight the battles, that they never could.”

Loki had been right, you realize as your mind races through the future, trying to process the pictures, the link to his mind opened wide.

You see death and destruction, faster than you want it to, hear the voice of someone you instinctively know to fear.

And then you see Loki, fear in his eyes, as he pulls out the Tesseract to hand it over. And a giant, skin purple, eyes cold, grabs the Tesseract from him with his left hand, his right hand around your head as he crushes the bone just as he had threatened to do if Loki wouldn’t give in.

You don’t realize your screaming until Loki slaps you, hard. You suck in a breath to silence yourself as he pulls you into a hug, his arms so tight around you that it hurts.

“I’m not letting you die,” he promises over and over again until the pictures settle and your brain stops hurting.

“But what are we going to do?” You ask and he pulls back to look at you.

“Do you remember when we spoke about me being king?” He asks, “You said I should use my power and do something about Jotunheim. You will go there, hidden away from the danger.”

“I can’t run from my obligations,” you remind him, “Heimdall and I have promised Thor to fight with him. You can send my parents to Sigurd to make sure he’s safe, but I can’t leave.”

“You have to,” he insists, “I’ve already lost Mother, I can’t lose you too.”

“I won’t.” You insist and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and nods.

“Alright,” he says, “But then you’ll have to guard the Tesseract instead. And if you are threatened to give it up, don’t.”

“I can do that,” you agree uneasily, picking up Sigurd who has slept through all the commotion only to fuss now.

Loki pulls out the Tesseract and holds it out for you to take, but he doesn’t let you as you slide your fingers around it. And as the gem starts to glow, you realize why, but by then it’s too late. It pulls you in and spits you out in the vastness of Jotunheim, unable to get back.

“You know I had to do it,” Loki tells you as he cuts your connection for the last time.

Yet again you’re left to watch, unable to help.

-

What will happen in Infinity war? I have no idea.

In my mind though, they will make it through, although Loki’s plan backfires a bit, because he Thanos uses Heimdall as bait instead of reader and Loki gives in because he can’t let Heimdall get killed - and in the end they rebuild Asgard through the power of the guardian’s books and the infinity stones. A new Asgard is born and reader’s job is it to rewrite all the books that were lost when she burnt down the library to keep their wisdom from Loki.

Loki reigns over Jotunheim and Thor over New Asgard while Heimdall watches the new Bifrost.

Reader has a second child, a daughter called Bjoerg after Heimdall’s father as Sigurd is named after Heimdall’s mother Sigurn.

Kriemhild had been married to Fandral, who was killed by Hela and gave birth to a girl who lived to become a warrior like her father. Brunhild died in the attack of the Dark Elves.

The healer Eira lived as well.

Now the only problem they have is the fact that their children are spending too much time with Uncle Loki who teaches them his mischievous spirits. Bjoerg is terribly good at playing pranks.

-

So yeah, that’s it. I don’t know what to say, this would have taken me ages to write down in my style of writing where I describe everything in lenghty detail, from the Bifrost being build, to the Thor movies described again and the live in the mountains.

Just know that reader is a badass fighter and shoots arrows while riding full speed. 

I hope you had fun reading. I still really like Loki.

For once I don’t know what to say. We had a good time, shame it ends like this.


	28. THE EVER AFTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after Infinity War

It takes them a few days to get it together.

Most of them are in Wakanda, but Wakanda needs a new ruler and Shuri’s hesitant to step up at first.

But they don’t expect Tony to get to them, don’t expect him with a blue alien in tow and heartbreak in his eyes.

It’s almost impossible to sit inside, to feel sheltered when they’re not, but it’s not less easy to sit outside, to gather where they had fought and… lost.

They hardly speak, nothing more but shuffling around each other, unable to put into words what can’t be expressed.

Thor has lost much. Too much. He’s clinging to the last flicker of hope, but he feels like he’s losing it too, when he looks at Steve and Nat and Tony, yeah, Tony’s probably the worst.

It’s day three after the thing no one dares to name when the sky flickers to life.

Thor is the first to notice, probably because it’s so familiar to him. The colors are different, a bright orange tint lighting up the clouds that now have green streaks in it, but he can taste the dark magic, can feel the power.

“What the-”

“Don’t!” He bellows out, “This is not an attack!”

He believes that because he needs it to be like that. And, with the sound quite like a skull cracked open, the sky opens and you’re there.

You look like the last time he’s seen you, dirty from the fight for Asgard, hardened from years in the mountains. The last time he’d seen you, you had stepped aside to nurse your child. That had been just moments before Loki had used the Tesseract to send you away.

He swallows, dryly, as he looks in your eyes.

“Sister,” he greets you and you hiss as if the title hurts you. He walks over to you, eager to touch you, to get rid of the doubts. You’re really here.

You hold up your hand to stop him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sister,” he says again and reaches out nonetheless. But he can’t touch you, his hand moving through what was supposed to be yours.

“I am Y/N of Asgard,” you call out to the group of fallen heroes, avoiding his gaze, “I am here to bring you a message. Anthony Stark… please step forward.”

“Why would I?” Stark’s voice is gravely from not being used so long.

“I have a message from the one you call your son.”

“This is a trick. I’m not falling for that trick.” He spits out. “Thor-”

You step forward before Thor can stop you, not that he could have done much.

You look at every one of them, at Nat and Steve who’re barely holding up, at Rhodey and Bruce, Sweet Rabbit and the blue alien who’s scowling at you.

“I am Y/N of Asgard. I am the guardian of knowledge. No one is dead as long as I remember them. Thanos might have killed my body, but my mind is alive. I am here to kill Thanos.”

“You’re too late for that,” sweet rabbit spits out and you stop to look at him.

“Rocket Racoon. Your team has told me that you would be skeptical. I have a message for you as well.”

You hold out your hand and a light flickers to life, growing into the image of the tree.

“I am Groot,” he says before it vanishes and Rocket just stares, unable to speak.

“Now,” you lick your lips, “I know you are broken and hopeless. I have seen you fight. But do not lose hope… The sun will shine on us again, I assure you.”

Thor can’t help himself, he grips her shoulder even though he knows that his hand will go through her.

“Sister,” he says again, “Loki- And Heimdall-”

“I know,” you say slowly, “I saw it. We all lost. I saw it all. At times like this, allsight is not a gift but a burden. But we are not lost and we are not hopeless. Now, gather round, because we need every ounce of hope we can get and I assure you that the sight of your loved ones will give you hope.”

-

“Your son wants me to tell you that it’s not your fault. He’s eager to get back.” You tell Tony, your hand on his shoulder in a gesture that’s supposed to be comforting even though he couldn’t feel it if he tried.

Thor waits for you to come back to him. He doesn’t feel like he has the right to push. His friends did not die in the Snap, he will not be able to get a message.

“I thought we lost you too.” He says and desperately wishes for your touch to be real. It’s one thing seeing he’s not the last of Asgard, feeling it would make it real.

“You almost did.”

“Your son?”

You swallow and look away.

“Don’t tell me he’s-” Thor is unable to say it and you shake your head again.

“He’s alive. But I scare him. He does not understand why he cannot touch me. I had to leave him behind to keep him safe. The frost giants are looking after him.”

“The frost giants…”

“Loki sent me there. They have been treating me like their queen.”

“He loved you,” Thor whispers, “He always has.”

“I know that, Thor,” you tell him, “We’ve been best friends for too long to not know. But not in the way you think. He’s just…”

“He was,” he corrects you.

“There is one thing you need to know,” you tell him, “No one is ever really dead as long as we…” you clear your throat as you correct yourself, “As long as I can remember them. Allsight is just one part of it. Power is the other.”

“You are going to bring them back.”

“All of them, Thor. All of them,” you assure him, “I will not let one soul fall victim to this murderer.”

“Is this even allowed? I thought the guardians had strict regulations.”

“Thor,” you look at him, “If you think that there could be one thing holding me back from bringing Heimdall back to life, you have understood my love wrong.”

-

It takes them months and not just time, but tears and sacrifices that they probably won’t ever talk about again, but they make it.

And yes, New Asgard isn’t made of gold and one of his eyes isn’t technically his own, but when he looks over his kingdom, he can only see tears of joy.

“I think I already know the answer,” he says as he talks to you one day in the new library of the guardians. You’re still bound to your bed as the body you had built for yourself is taking it’s time to grow, but today you’re able to smile at him and he’s allowed to softly touch your hand.

“Ask,” you tell him.

“Would you do it again? Give up your body as a sacrifice?”

“I knew there was a way to get a new one,” you tell him softly, “And what is a body in exchange for so many lives?”

“You would do it again?”

“Always,” you tell him, “Always.”

He walks out after that because he knows that in a minute, Heimdall will be there to look after you, bringing your son with him.

Really, he thinks as he touches the skin around the eye that he has lost, thinking of the sacrifices they made, what is a body in the grand scheme of things?

-

That doesn’t mean he stops paying you visits, asking you to look after the others.

“They are playing ball,” you tell him when you’re able to walk again, absentmindedly cleaning the kitchen table, “Tony is just yelling at Peter because he likes to jump around.”

“What about Bruce?”

“He is in a relationship,” you smile, “She’s nice.”

“Nat?”

“Oh, she has a new hair color. Black suits her.”

“Clint?”

You smile, “He’s recording. Nathaniel is taking his first steps.”

“Wanda?”

You wink at Thor. “Wanda would like not to be watched right now.”

“And her-”

“Brother? He is fine,” You smile, “He’s trying to impress the princess of Wakanda with his super speed.” You laugh. “And he failed.”

“They are all happy?” Thor asks and you smile at him.

“Yes, my king. They are all happy.”


End file.
